


Angels Don’t Bleed

by Ta_Cait_Agam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel (Supernatural) Deals With Having Human Emotions, Dean says “fuck” a lot it’s easier than talking about his feelings, Denial, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Drowning emotions in alcohol, Emotions make Dean uncomfortable, Hand Jobs, Human emotions suck when you’ve never dealt with them before, M/M, Masturbation, Medical stuff, Mortality, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 42,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ta_Cait_Agam/pseuds/Ta_Cait_Agam
Summary: Originally just something I wrote years ago that I found recently. First chapter is the original short scene that’s turning into more.Cas shows up suddenly with unexplainable injuries, and Dean feels angsts, helpless, and confused.





	1. What Is and What Should Never Be

**Author's Note:**

> It was so long ago I’m not sure, but I think that I was probably watching Season 5 or 6 when I wrote this. As of now I’m a bit behind (I’ve only seen through season 9) so this fic will definitely diverge from the show’s storylines! Also, sort of awkward because I started writing Cas as a human before I got to the part in the show where they sort of do that, so my ideas are a bit different there. It was actually pretty funny watching the show, getting to that part, and thinking, “Well, _Son of a bitch!_ “ 😂😂

It has been too long. This thought chases itself around Dean’s head as it has been for the past couple of days. It enters once more as he climbs the damp stairs to his second floor motel room, pausing for a moment to dig the key out of his pocket.

“Where the hell is he?” Dean thinks to himself. At times he wants to scream it, but he bites his lip and swallows the words whole. Castiel had vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. That was eight days ago. That was his style. No explanations. No promises. No hints as to when he might return again. This is Cas. At times Dean hates him for it, but the hatred never lasts long; soon Dean longs for his friend’s return, because that is what Castiel has become: a friend.

Aside from his brother, Dean’s sole companion has become the angel. The relationship between the two has evolved into a unique combination of camaraderie, brotherhood, and guardianship. Although Dean has never said it aloud, Castiel’s presence in his life has been an unexpected blessing, as Dean had always believed his path would be a solo one, shared only now and again by his brother. Sam, though Dean loves his brother deeply, can be a burden at times. As is normal for two brothers, the pair argues about trivialities regularly, and Sam often storms off on his own for weeks at a time. In the beginning, Dean was accustomed to being alone after another fight with Sam, but now Dean finds his time alone difficult to bear. Of course he misses his brother, but now he finds that it is the angel from whom he is desperate to hear. There is something inside Dean that is gnawing at him, and he finds himself longing to suddenly feel Castiel at his side again.

Dean fumbles with the key in his hand as he juggles the paper bags in his arms. He is taking a break from a case, and it is time for a drink. Maybe more. As he jams the key into the lock, he kicks the door and it flies open. Dean stumbles into the room, dumping the bags on the table. Massaging his brow with one hand, he shuts the door, locks it, double checks that it’s locked, and turns slowly toward the bed. He freezes. For an instant he wonders if he has broken into another person’s room, but quickly pulls the gun from his waistband and takes aim at the figure he has found lying in his bed.

“Hey!” Dean speaks in a rough voice as he inches closer to the bed. He flips on the light with one hand while keeping the gun pointed at the motionless figure in his bed. “What are you doing in here?” But Dean’s breath catches in his throat when the figure slowly shifts and his face comes into the dim light of the cheap motel room.

“Cas?” Dean breathes, as a surge of unrecognizable emotion overcomes him. He hastily throws the gun onto the nightstand and approaches the bed. “Cas! What are you…? Why are you…sleeping? You don’t sleep!” Dean rushes, “Why are you sleeping?” But Castiel doesn’t answer him right away. He slowly opens his electric blue eyes and gazes up at Dean with that look that Dean swears is boring into his soul. After a minute, he opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” the angel nearly whispers. He is pale, and his voice is raspy. Dean’s eyes widen with a dread he is unaccustomed to. “I am exhausted.”

“But you never sleep…” Dean repeats this phrase for lack of anything else to say. Something in his stomach is twisting like a hot knife. Something tells him that Castiel is in trouble.

“I’m not physically exhausted, Dean…It’s…I can’t explain, but it’s more a mental exhaustion.” At this moment, Castiel begins to cough. Without thinking, Dean grasps the angel’s shoulder, steadying him, and in a way steadying himself. Tiny droplets of blood spatter the sheets as Castiel fights to clear his throat, and a line of blood escapes the corner of his mouth.

“God, Cas! What the hell?” As dread takes a firmer hold, Dean’s fingertips and toes feel oddly numb. “This seems physical to me.”

“The angels…the other angels, Dean…They’re not happy…” Castiel sinks backwards once again, and Dean collapses, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

“What do you mean?” breathes Dean, and he finds himself fighting the urge to inch closer to the angel: an urge he doesn’t quite understand.

“It’s you…well, me…And you.” Castiel struggles for the words, his brow furrowed, a look of confusion etched across his face. “They warned me…about getting too close to you, Dean.”

Dean can’t tear his eyes away from the steady trickle of blood dripping from the angel’s mouth, partly because he can’t bear to meet his gaze. A part of Dean, however, has become mesmerized by the angel’s lips. He doesn’t know why, but he longs to gently wipe the blood from his chin and tell him that everything will be okay. But he can’t.

“Dean?” Dean is shaken from his trance. “Dean, the other angels don’t want me near you…they don’t really want me around at all.” Suddenly Castiel inhales sharply, his face contorting in pain. Dean’s eyes widen further and he feels frozen to the spot. Castiel’s hands travel to his abdomen as he curls into a semi-fetal position.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers to himself, biting his lip. At this he moves closer to the angel writhing in pain before him, placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. He lays Castiel back, propping another pillow behind his head.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Castiel repeats, his voice trembling. “I’ve never…felt like this before.”

“It’s pain Cas. You’re feeling pain,” Dean mutters numbly. Dean feels helpless. As he would put it, this is way above his pay-grade, and that terrifies him. “You don’t sleep, and you don’t feel pain,” Dean murmurs, again at a loss for other words. At this, Castiel utters a low moan, again grasping at his stomach. “What? What is it?” And Dean pulls the blankets from Castiel’s trembling body.

Dean’s eyes fall upon Castiel’s torso. To his horror, Castiel’s shirt is stained dark red with blood. It is still wet, and Dean sees that Castiel’s hands are also stained from holding himself. Dean clenches his jaw as the angel takes another shuttering breath.

“Can you help me get this off of you?” Dean speaks gently, trying to mask his fear as he gestures to Castiel’s tie and trench coat. Castiel sits up weakly as Dean leans forward to help him. They are face to face, closer than ever before, as Dean removes the angel’s blood-stained trench coat. Their eyes lock and Dean gets the feeling that if he loses Castiel, he will lose everything about himself.

As Castiel lies back down, Dean gingerly begins to unbutton his blood-soaked shirt, the dark red blood in stark contrast with the light blue hue of the shirt. Dean is afraid of what he will find underneath. His brow furrows and his face hardens as he tosses Castiel’s shirt aside. It is as bad as he had feared. Castiel’s chest rises and falls quickly as he draws shallow breathes. Dean surveys the angel’s wounds and is sure that had Castiel been a regular human being, he would be long dead by now.

“Oh, Cas. What happened to you?” Dean’s voice barely escapes him as he gazes at his suffering friend. Castiel’s naked torso appears thin and frail; he seems much smaller than usual, hardly like an angel at all.

“I don’t know,” Castiel breathes, “I…don’t remember.” The color is quickly draining from the angel’s face as he continues to bleed.

“Cas, I think I need to get you to a hospital.”

“No. No, Dean. I’ll be fine.” But Castiel begins coughing again. Covering his mouth with his hand, he attempts to hide the fact that blood is dripping more steadily from his mouth, and now from his nose.

“Cas! Your vessel is dying!” Dean’s tone becomes strained as he tries to mask the panic seething within himself. “This is beyond my skill level! This isn’t something I can fix with a needle and thread!” Dean clenches his fists before burying his face in his hands.

“I will heal myself…I’ve just been so exhausted.” 

“But what if you can’t?” Dean whispers. “What if you’re, you know…mortal now or something?” Dean straightens up and catches the angel’s eyes, pleading with him. “Please, Cas…please, we’ve got to go.”

“Trust me, Dean,” Castiel’s eyes flicker as he winces once more from pain. “I just need to rest. Trust me.” Dean sighs heavily.

“Fine,” Dean almost shouts, rising from the bed. “Fine, but I don’t like this at all!” In Dean’s mind, Castiel is dying and there is nothing he can do about it. He hurries out of the room, down to the parking lot, and begins rummaging through the trunk of the Impala. From under the assortment of weapons, he pulls a rudimentary first-aid kit and slams the trunk lid shut again before rushing back to his room. He finds Castiel’s gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“Cas?” The angel’s eyes roll and converge on Dean’s face. Dean grabs a towel from the bathroom. “I hope this is clean,” he mutters to himself. “Okay, Cas, this will probably sting like hell,” Dean speaks roughly, pulling a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of his bag.

“What are you doing?” Castiel questions weakly.

“Listen, I’ve got to try…I can’t sit here and do nothing.” Dean splashes some of the alcohol over the angel’s wounds. Castiel lets out a cry and bites his lip in pain. Dean can see his neck and face tightening as Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. The attempt to clean the wound seems futile, but Dean progresses. He attempts to stem the flow of blood with the towel before pulling out a lighter and a needle and thread. “Cas, how are you doing?” The angel makes a sound that doesn’t resemble words. “Cas, stay with me.”

Dean holds the needle over his lighter’s flame for a moment or two, trying to decide where to begin. He can’t really see much to sew together, but he knows he has to try. For a moment Dean swears he can see human fear in the angel’s eyes.

“Just try to relax…I’ll try to be quick,” Dean speaks in as calm a tone as he can muster before pressing the needle to the angel’s skin and beginning his work. At first Castiel takes in a sharp breath with each pierce of the needle, but after a while his eyes glaze over and he lies quietly, staring at the ceiling.

“Cas, are you alright?” Dean’s voice is tired.

“Yeah,” the angel grunts.

“I’m almost finished.” And Dean ties off the thread and pulls out a roll of gauze. The angel’s abdomen looks like a gory patchwork quilt, but it is the best that Dean could do, and at least the blood has stopped flowing freely. Dean gently finishes the job with a thick layer of gauze and tape before covering Castiel’s shivering body with a blanket.

“Get some rest Cas,” Dean speaks gently, packing his supplies away once again. The angel’s eyes are closed, his brown hair ruffled, and brow moist with sweat. Dean is about to push himself up from the bed when Castiel suddenly opens his eyes.

“Dean,” he speaks in a trembling voice, “you know… I’ve chosen you…” Dean opens his mouth but he doesn’t know what to say. “Over the other angels, Dean…I don’t believe in them anymore.” Slowly, Dean feels a cold hand grasp his. He looks down to see the angel’s bloody hand on his. Dean takes it in his and holds it tightly. He doesn’t want to let go. He feels that if he lets go, Castiel will slip away from him forever.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, and he feels a tear roll down his cheek. Castiel’s eyes close slowly again, and his chest begins to rise and fall more gently. Dean sits by his side for what seems an eternity, holding the angel’s hand, and pleading to thin air that the next minute Castiel will be back to normal. But nothing changes. Castiel continues to sleep, if it can be called that, and Dean becomes transfixed again with the drying blood on the angel’s face. After a while he can’t handle it anymore; angels shouldn’t bleed. Dean slowly releases Castiel’s hand and rises from the bed. He paces back and forth. He is confused and shaking, and emotions well in his chest that are unfamiliar to him.


	2. In My Time of Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote a new chapter!.... like 7 or 8 years later...

The minutes crawl by like days, and Dean can't take it anymore.

"Cas?" he says, loud, rough, as he stops his pacing at the side of the bed. The angel doesn't stir. "Castiel?" Nothing. Dean kneels, his hand at the side of his friend's neck, feeling for a pulse. He finds one. Dean huffs, exhaling, unaware he'd been holding his breath, but he knows it's bad, like really bad. The angel's pulse is fast, fast and weak, a bad combination. He's lost too much blood, Dean knows; he's seen enough human death to know this is how it goes. Cold hands, shallow breathing, rapid heart rate. Fuck.

"You know what, Cas? No, fuck this. Let's go." As gently as he can manage, he gathers the angel's body in his arms. He thinks bitterly about how nice it would be to have Sam's help right about now.

"Son of a bitch, Cas!" Dean swears to himself as he struggles with the door and the angel's deadweight. He continues to cuss about his fucking keys, the dumbass who parked so close to him, and his douchebag younger brother who left his shit all over the back seat of the Impala. If Sam were here, he would know the depth of Dean's fear, positively correlated with the amount of profanity he spewed.

Against all odds, Dean manages to heft Castiel into the back seat before running back up to the room for a blanket, his gun, and one of the fake IDs he'd left on the nightstand. Back in the Impala, he throws the blanket over Castiel's near-lifeless form and peels out of the parking lot, cranking the heat in an attempt to keep the angel's body temperature up.

"Hold on, Cas," Dean mutters under his breath as his eyes flash up to the rearview mirror. His mind races as he drives, scrambling to organize the lies he knows he's about to tell. There are many reasons Dean and Sam avoid hospitals, but a big reason is the barrage of inevitable questions that are posed the moment a person steps through the front doors. This time, however, Dean is out of options. When the usual solution to a medical emergency is "ask Cas to fix it," you're fucked when it's Cas who needs fixing. Dean likens it to attempting to use the microwave when the electric stove won't work during a power outage.

Dean slams on the brakes in front of the emergency department entrance. He hardly waits for the car to stop before jumping out and wrenching the back door open. A group of hospital personnel help drag the limp body out of the back of the Impala, laying him out on a stretcher.

"He was stabbed or something," Dean tells a nurse hurriedly. "I don't know what really happened; I just came home and found him like this - well he was conscious at first. Lost a lot of blood. Think he's in shock. " At least that was all true, Dean thinks to himself.

"Was he able to tell you anything?"

"No, not about what happened." Well, nothing that didn't involve angry fucking angels.

As the trauma team starts IVs and oxygen and begins to cut the rest of the clothing from his body, the patchwork stitching on Castiel's abdomen raises a few eyebrows and, of course, questions.

"Do you know who patched him up?"

"No." And the lies begin. "I hadn't seen him for a few days. Not sure where he was." Well, that was true.

"Any idea at all where he was? Who he was with?"

In heaven? With angels? "No, none."

The nurse eyes him skeptically. "Please, have a seat here, we'll keep you updated, and we'll need to ask you a few more questions." Dean nods and sits, sighing audibly and burying his face in his hands for a moment. Soon, he is taken to a small room with a couple chairs. He sits and a woman in a light blue button down shirt and black slacks sits opposite him. She peers at him over dark-rimmed glasses. Normally he would smirk to himself about how much this resembles the lead in to a bad porno, but at the moment his mind is elsewhere.

"My name is Bridget. I am a social worker here at the hospital, and I would just like to get a little more information about the patient you brought in."

"Okay." Dean fidgets in his chair.

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Cas... sh. It's Cash. Novak." Dean clears his throat. Get it together, Dean!

"And what's your name, for my records?"

"Robert. Uh, Rob Plant." It's the name on the fake ID he's carrying at the moment. This identity doesn't have an arrest record yet.

"And Rob, how do you know Cash?"

"He's my brother. Half brother. Different dad." Very different dad. Dean isn't sure why he said it, but it's probably for the best, legally speaking, if he claims they're family; he might have more of a say in what happens from here concerning Cas.

"Does Cash have any other living relatives? Is he married? Any children?"

"No. Not married, no kids. He may have an aunt in Wisconsin, but we haven't heard from her in years." Yeah, that sounds believable.

There's a knock at the door and Bridget excuses herself for a moment. When she returns, she is accompanied by two police officers. Dean knew this was coming.

"I've given them the information you've already told me. They just have a few more questions," Bridget explains. Dean hates this, hates the scrutiny, the suspicion. Mostly though, he just wants to see Cas, to know if he's going to make it.

"Sure," he answers.

He's asked the usual questions: the "do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him" sort of questions and the "has he mentioned anything unusual lately" questions also. Since "archangels" and "celestial civil war" are not acceptable anwers, Dean simply answers "no" to everything. It would almost be funny if the whole thing weren't so fucked up. When the officers are satisfied, Dean is left alone again. He stands and paces in the small room, unable to sit still.

Finally, a man enters dressed in hospital scrubs.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Donovan," he says, shaking Dean's hand and offering him a seat. "As I'm sure you are aware, your brother is in serious condition. We have given him a blood transfusion and have started him on antibiotics. A CT scan revealed a ruptured spleen, a lacerated kidney, and extensive damage to the abdominal wall. He is in surgery now." Dean's head is swimming. He's hearing the words, but can hardly grasp the meaning. Surgery? A blood transfusion? But this is Cas. Dean takes a deep breath. He grips his knees tightly, but it doesn't keep his hands from shaking.

"Is he gonna..." Dean's voice is hollow, hoarse, and his question trails off before he can finish it.

"I'm sure this is all very overwhelming," the doctor says gently. Dean nods, staring at the floor. "It is difficult to say at this moment how well he may recover. With as much blood as he lost, there is a serious concern for permanent organ damage, including brain damage if it received an inadequate oxygen supply for too long. With abdominal injuries like his, I am also worried about infection. But I assure you, we will do everything we can for your brother. Our surgical team is excellent, and I will be overseeing his care when he is out of surgery and admitted to the ICU. You will be notified when that happens. Do you have any questions? Is there anything we can get you? Water? Coffee?" Dean shakes his head.

"No. Thank you though."

"Alright. We will keep you updated."

"Thanks."

When the doctor excuses himself from the room Dean pulls out his phone and hits the first number on speed dial. Straight to voicemail.

"Dammit, Sam, pick up your phone!" Dean immediately regrets his tone and redials. "I'm sorry. Please call me... I need you Sammy." Dean cringes at his own vulnerability, but fuck if he isn't scared shitless. Then without warning, the breakdown begins. He fights it. He wants to punch something, but the tears come anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do plan to update again soon!


	3. Big Yellow Taxi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone?_
> 
> _-Joni Mitchell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of short chapter- kind of just posting as I write.

When Dean ultimately gives in to the emotion overtaking him, he leans his back against the wall and slides to a seat on the floor. He surrenders to the damn tears and lets them run down his cheeks, wiping his nose now and again on his jacket sleeve. He is startled when his phone begins to ring in his pocket. He scrambles for it and flips it open.

"Sam?" he answers almost desperately.

"Yeah, Dean what is going on? Are you... crying?" Dean ignores the last remark.

"It's Cas... I'm at the hospital.''

"What? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, but Cas is in surgery. Fucking surgery, Sam! He's pretty damn torn up."

"Shit. What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He was gone for days and then suddenly he was on the bed in my motel room bleeding out. He said something about the 'other angels,' but said he didn't remember. Then he went unresponsive." Dean does the best he can to suppress the waver in his voice. "I don't know what to do, Sammy," Dean chokes, and it hits Sam like a punch to the gut. To hear his older brother sound so broken frightens Sam in a way. It just seems so wrong.

"Where are you, Dean?"

"Portland, Oregon."

"I can be there in about seven hours."

"Where are _you_?"

"Not sure exactly... Some foresty area outside Snoqualmie, Washington, but I'll leave right away."

"Thanks, Sammy. And, listen... I'm sorry... for everything."

"Yeah, me too, Dean. So I'll, uh, see you soon."

"Thanks. See you." Dean flips his phone closed with a sigh of momentary relief. The panic tightening his chest seems to let up a little. Sam probably doesn't realize the calming effect he can have on Dean, but Sam has always been his anchor, the one constant in his life. Growing up required Dean to be strong for Sam's sake, even if he didn't feel like he was. Like they always say: "fake it til you make it." As a result, Dean feels stronger with Sam at his side (though he'll probably never say it out loud).

"Rob?" Dean, startled, looks up. A young woman in blue hospital scrubs is standing in the doorway. "I'm Emily. I'm one of the OR nurses helping with your brother's case." Dean nods his understanding, afraid of what she may say next.

"I just wanted to let you know that your brother is still in surgery, but his vitals are stable," she continued with a gentle smile.

"It's going good so far?" Dean managed after clearing his throat.

"Yes. He's in good hands. Would you like me to take you to the surgery waiting area? It will likely still be a few hours before they're done and it will be easier to keep you updated there."

"Okay. Yeah, thanks." Dean stands slowly and follows the nurse down a hallway, and then another and another. The place is huge. He doubts he'll remember how to get anywhere. As they walk Emily points out where he can get something to eat or drink, where the restrooms are, where to get decent cell reception, and so on.

"There's coffee available in the waiting area. If you want _good_ coffee, there's a coffee shop on the floor below us."

"And if I want a shot of bourbon?" Dean half-smiles at the young woman with a hint of that Dean-Winchester charm.

"Unfortunately," she laughs softly, "there's no hospital bar... though I'm sure it would be packed if there were.

At last they arrive at a large area filled with chairs and nervous looking people.

"Alright, Rob, I will see you again when the surgery is finished. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

"No, thanks. Just get my brother through this... please," Dean answers wistfully.

"We will do everything in our power," she promises before turning to leave. Dean can't just sit in the waiting room; way too much nervous energy in that place, and it just seems to emphasize how fucked up this whole thing is. Half of these people are probably praying for some angel to watch over their loved ones, and here _his_ angel is, circling the drain. Dean can't take it. He wanders down a hallway With huge windows all along one side. It's dark outside and from where the hospital sits, up on a hill, he can see the city lights spread out before him. He rests his forehead against the cool glass and takes a deep breath. The lights of Portland's many bridges reflect on the surface of the river, and Dean has to admit there's a certain beauty to it.

What if Cas never wakes up? What if his "grace" or whatever is damaged past repair? The city lights can't shine past the darkness Dean feels creeping over him as these questions play in a loop in his head. He realizes he knows next to nothing regarding angel physiology, if you can even call it that. He assumes that what Anna and Cas had called "grace" is like the angel equivalent of a soul, but what that really means, he isn't sure. What the surgeons are working on - is that even Cas? Or is it Jimmy again? Or maybe it's only an empty vessel that no longer contains Castiel or its original human occupant.

Dean suddenly feels like a self-centered idiot for having never truly asked Castiel about himself. All this time he had an angel- a freaking angel! -at his side, and never thought to ask him all the nitty gritty detailed questions anyone else probably would have. Guilt stabs at him as he realizes Cas was right: he and Sam only call on him when they need something. Castiel literally pulled him out of hell, and Dean has been an ungrateful ass ever since. Dean curses himself as he refects on this. And now, he thinks, he's gonna go all Joni Mitchell about how he never knew what he had til it's gone. Could he ever not be a fucking cliché?


	4. Nobody’s Fault but Mine

Hours pass. The night creeps on. Dean watches through the windows as the city below begins to wake up. The freeways fill, rows of brake lights in thousands of morning commutes. To the east Dean watches the sky begin to glow a pale pink, revealing the mountain that hadn't been visible during the dark of night. The hospital buzzes like a beehive as hundreds of employees, students, patients, and family members arrive, coffee in hand, most struggling still to fully wake up.

Something crashes into the back of Dean's legs as he stares out the window. He spins around to see a tired woman carrying a baby on one hip extending her hand to the small child staring up at him from where he had crashed.

"I'm sorry about that," the woman blurts out, embarrassed.

"Oh, he's fine," Dean manages a smile as the woman takes the child's hand.

"Have a nice day," she says, smiling weakly while looking as though the weight of the world is on her shoulders.

"Yeah, you too," Dean replies before she continues on her way.

"Come on baby, let's go see how daddy's doing," Dean hears her say to the child before they disappear into the crowd. Fuck, he thinks bitterly, the suffering of the hundreds of souls around him distracting him briefly from his own misery. He reflects again on "God": Castiel's own absentee father, and again, he can't fathom a being with the power to end all this suffering, but simply won't. He wants to punch something. Sorrow, anger, fear: wanting to punch something has been his reaction to each of these emotions for as long as he can remember. Maybe he's emotionally immature, but whose fucking fault is that? His mind jumps to his own absentee father.

Just then Emily approaches him through the crowd. She looks exhausted, but she has a gentle smile on her face.

"Rob," she begins, "your brother is out of surgery. He remains sedated, but he is stable." Dean exhales heavily, a little tension leaving his shoulders.

"When can I see him?" he asks hopefully.

"Pretty soon. He's in recovery now, but he'll be transferred to intensive care soon, and you'll be able to see him there."

"Thank you."

"Sure I can't get you some coffee? You look exhausted," she offers kindly.

"Nah, I'm okay, really," Dean replies before adding, "besides, you look tired as hell yourself." She laughs softly.

"Well, my shift is over. I'm going to go collapse for a while, but I wanted to be the one to update you before I go."

"Well, thank you. Thanks for taking care of him."

"Of course," she smiles tiredly. "You need any help finding the ICU?"

"I'm sure I'll manage. Go get some rest."

"Thanks. Give your brother my best, and Rob, take care of yourself." Dean nods and smiles as she turns to go.

* * *

When he finds the ICU, Dean is directed to yet another waiting area and is told he'll be notified as soon as his brother arrives and is ready to be seen. He finally accepts a cup of coffee. Emily was right; it sucks. But it's hot, and it's technically coffee.

Eventually, a nurse approaches him and leads him through the double doors of the intensive care unit. Dean is uneasy. The few patients he can see through glass doors look... well, they look like crap. The nurse tells Dean that his brother will be sedated for a while, and the surgeon will be in later to tell him more. Dean nods before nervously entering the room. His breath catches in his chest as his eyes struggle to take in Cas's form lying motionless amid the hums and beeps of the various machines assisting with his vital functions. Dean fights the tears burning in his eyes as he is left alone with Cas. Or Cas's vessel; this can't possibly be Cas, he thinks. You can't put an _Angel of the Lord_ on life support... can you?!

"Fuck, Cas, where are you?" Dean murmurs. All he can do for a while is stand at the bedside and stare. He doesn't know what he's waiting for. A sign or something? But nothing happens. Cas's chest rises and falls as the machine breathes for him. His skin is disturbingly pale. When Dean gathers the courage, he places his hand gingerly on Castiel's forearm and nearly recoils instantly; the angel's skin is _so cold._ Then the guilt hits. This is **his** fault. **Dean's** fault. If he hadn't kept calling on Cas, this never would have happened. Whether or not this is a rational line of thinking, this is the way Dean's mind works, the way it has always worked, taking everything upon himself whether it's his place or not.

Dean pulls a chair up to the bed. Gradually he moves his hand to Castiel's. He takes the angel's hand in both of his. Fuck, he aint good at this. But he owes Cas this much, and so much more.

"Hey, Cas," Dean struggles as his voice shakes, "it's Dean. I uh, don't know if you can hear me, but if you're in there and you can hear me, _I'm so sorry._ " The last words are barely a whisper. "I'm probably being selfish again, but Cas, I _really_ need you to come back to me." Fuck, he's crying again. "I'll do whatever you need me to. I promise, I'm not goin' anywhere."

At some point sleep takes Dean. When he wakes it's to a knocking on the door. He jerks awake, still leaning against the bedrail, Cas's hand still clasped in his own. He turns to look up at the door, and there's Sammy. If Sam thinks anything about the scene in front of him is odd, he doesn't let on. Dean rises quickly, turning to Sam, a look of relief on his face. The brothers nearly collide in embrace.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean breathes, his arms still wrapped tightly around his giant little brother.

"Dean, are you sure you're ok?" Sam asks, holding his brother out at arms' length and searching his face for answers. Dean shakes his head and slumps back into the chair at Cas's side.

"No, I don't know how to fucking deal with this. Don't know how to fix this, hell, I don't even know what's wrong with him in the first place!"

Sam exhales long and low, staring at Castiel from the foot of the bed. "What do the doctors say?"

"Don't know yet."

As if on cue, a tall woman with dark skin and shiny black curls enters the room. She introduces herself as Dr. Martinez, the lead surgeon on Cash's case.

Dean extends his hand to her. "I'm Rob, and this is my brother John," he says, indicating Sam. Then, more to Sam than anyone else, he adds "We're Cash's half brothers." Sam nods at Dean subtly as their eyes meet.

"Nice to meet you both." She has two more chairs brought in and sits facing Sam and Dean. "I'm sure you are both anxious to know how your brother is doing."

"Yeah," Dean answers, "please, and you can tell it to us straight. No need to sugar coat it."

"Alright," she answers, her tone serious, "to be perfectly blunt, the fact that your brother is still alive right now is, well, almost miraculous." Sam and Dean exchange looks, knowing the doctor's words are probably far more accurate than she realizes.

"The volume of blood he lost is usually what we call 'incompatible with life.' In other words, fatal. And in all my career, I have never seen an abdominal injury like this."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks. "I'm sure you've seen people skewered on all kinds of stuff." Sam raises his eyebrows and shoots his brother a look that says " _really_ , Dean?" But the doctor continues, unfazed.

"Yes, I have. But when we were exploring the wound we found that parts of the intestinal tract and abdominal cavity were _burned_ ... Almost like the inside of the wound was cauterized. And it was deep. He is actually very lucky as the wound seems to have quite narrowly missed his aorta."

Seeing the blank look on Dean's face, Sam pipes up. "The aorta is the largest artery in the body. It carries oxygenated blood from the heart to the rest of the body. You can bleed out really fast if it is damaged."

Dean rolls his eyes muttering "thanks, Dr. House," under his breath. Before Sam can scowl at him, the doctor continues.

"Exactly. He is very lucky the wound isn't any deeper."

"Do you have any idea what could have caused an injury like that?" Dean asks.

"Honestly? Nothing that a person could survive. Especially as long as he did before you found him and brought him in. And because of the blood loss, the mere fact that he is not in multi-organ failure right now is astonishing. I am still concerned about infection, but we have him on some pretty heavy-duty antibiotics. We resected as much badly burned tissue as possible, and what we left seemed to be getting adequate bloodflow, but there is still a risk of necrosis, tissue death. He'll of course be closely monitored for that and any signs of sepsis."

Most of this is going over Dean's head, but he knows Sam is taking it all in and will be glad to explain it all to him in obnoxious detail later.

"So, is he gonna wake up and be alright?" Dean blurts out at last, unable to wait any longer.

"It's very difficult to say at this point. It is possible that he may fully recover, as his wounds all miraculously managed not to hit any vital organs. However, whether or not he will recover without cognitive impairment is very difficult to predict, and I dont want to give you false hope."

"So, you're saying there's a chance he'll be back to normal. And worst-case scenario?" Sam questions, knowing Dean needs to know, but is hesitant to ask.

"Worst-case scenario, he never regains consciousness." The words knock the wind out of Dean. "He is sedated now, but we will slowly cut back. Then we will have a better idea of what we're up against." The words hold a double meaning in Dean's mind.


	5. End of the Night

"What the hell?" Sam exclaims once they are alone again.

"I don't know Sammy," Dean sighs wearily.

"I mean, with the other angels it was one stab with the angel blade and they're toast, just a dead, empty vessel," Sam says, mystified.

"I know. And this wasn't one stab wound, it was more like he'd been torn open."

"Hell hound?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Dean replies. "I mean, before he went unconscious, he said it was 'other angels'."

"Did he say which ones?"

"No." The brothers fall silent for a time after that. Dean watches the angel's face, watches his chest rise and fall. Sam watches Dean.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, finally, "when's the last time you slept?"

"I was asleep when you showed up."

"You know what I mean."

"Dunno. Maybe 48 hours ago." Sam frowns.

"We should go find a room. I know I could use some sleep too." Dean doesn't respond. "Dean?"

"I think I should stay here.''

"Dean, you need to sleep. There's nothing we can do for him here. The nurses will call you if there are any changes."

"I don't feel right leaving him here. This happened because of me, Sam."

"You can't do that to yourself, Dean. Please, just come with me." Sam is very familiar with Dean's pattern of self-loathing and self-punishment. He knows Dean will run himself into the ground if nobody steps in.

"I can't, Sammy." Dean is hoarse, exhausted in body and soul.

"Dean, co-"

"No, Sam."

"Alright," Sam sighs, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, "I'll get a room and text you with the details in case you change your mind. But, please, don't put all this on yourself. You can't protect everyone from everything." Dean nods stiffly and Sam turns to leave.

"Sammy," Dean says and Sam pauses in the doorway, "thanks again." Sam gives a half smile before he turns to leave. It isn't more than ten minutes before Dean is asleep again in the chair, his arms draped over the angel's bedrail.

* * *

Castiel's condition doesn't change much the next day or the day after that. The doctors continue to be amazed by the seeming lack of organ damage exhibited by Cas's body given that he had all but bled out. Dean finds that difficult to take solace however as Cas is weaned off the sedatives and yet fails to wake up.

Dean trails behind as Castiel is wheeled to the diagnostic imaging department, life- sustaining equipment and nurses in tow. Dean has signed the consent forms for an MRI brain scan, though he questions to himself what good it will do. He's fairly sure "grace" won't show up on any sort of imaging study, but maybe they'll figure out something else.

MRI is in the basement and it’s freezing down there. Dean isn't allowed past a certain point and takes a seat helplessly in the hallway, zipping his jacket. An MRI tech informs him that the exam will take about an hour. It will be even longer after that before they receive any results. Dean can't stand the waiting game. He feels ready to climb the walls in this place. His phone vibrates; it's a text from Sam.

_U busy?_

_waiting 4 cas in mri_

_brought U lunch. meet me outside?_

_K_

Dean finds Sam on a bench in the sun with a great view of the river below.

"Hey man, you sleeping at all?" Sam asks, taking in Dean's disheveled appearance, complete with dark circles under his eyes.

"Some. What's for lunch?"

"Cheeseburger. Extra bacon." Sam hands his brother a paper bag.

"I could almost kiss you, Sammy." Dean says, almost happily. "I've been living off graham crackers and coffee." Sam waits until Dean's mouth is full so he can't protest.

"You really should come with me tonight and get a good nights sleep. No offense, but you could use a shower too."

"Fine," Dean says after swallowing the enormous bite he'd taken. Sam looks surprised but pleased.

* * *

When the brothers return to the ICU, Castiel is just being returned to his room.

"How did it go?" Dean asks a nurse named Sara.

"Everything went well. We should have the radiologist's read in an hour or so," she says with a smile.

"So no change yet?" Sam asks Dean once they're alone with Cas again. Dean sighs.

"No."

"I'm really sorry, Dean; I know you two were close." The words hang in the air unacknowledged. The brothers sit in silence for a while. Sam finds himself wishing Cas would wake up if only for Dean's sake. He's afraid to see how many pieces Dean will fall into if the angel doesn't return.

"I mean, this is Cas, Sam. _Cas._ He's gonna wake up." But Sam can tell Dean doesn't believe his own words.

"Oh, good, you're both here," Dr. Murphy says as he enters the room. "I've received the MRI results, and everything appears normal. We found no evidence of ischemic damage which, again, is frankly astounding given the blood loss he experienced. Basically, the physical structures of the brain and brainstem are intact."

"Well, that is great, right?" Sam says hopefully.

"Yes, he's very lucky," the doctor replies.

"So why isn't he waking up?" Dean asks, his voice cold.

"That, unfortunately, remains a mystery."

* * *

This evening, Dean quietly says goodbye to Cas.

"I'll be back first thing tomorrow. Promise."

At the motel Dean showers for the first time in ages and puts on clean clothes (relatively speaking). He downs a few beers and a couple shots of whisky without saying much to Sam before collapsing on the bed fully dressed, passing out, dead to the world around him.

When he wakes, it's to Sam shaking him excitedly.

"Dean! Wake up!"

"What? I'm up. What's wrong?" Dean squeezes his eyes tightly against the harsh morning light as his head throbs.

"Nothing's wrong. We need to go though. Cas is awake!"


	6. Break on Through to the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know the day destroys the night  
>  Night divides the day  
> Tried to run  
> Tried to hide  
> Break on through to the other side”_
> 
> _-The Doors_

Dean dresses and is out the door with Sam faster than ever which, given their “pack up and go” lifestyle, really is saying something. He curses the fucking Portland traffic and the awful goddamn parking at the hospital, but before long at all they are being buzzed in to the ICU.

"Wow! That was quick!" Sara says in greeting before leading them into an unoccupied room. She explains that she needs to speak with them briefly before they go in to see their brother.

"He opened his eyes around six this morning," she explains.

"Has he been talking?" Dean asks urgently. "Is he alright?" The nurse pauses. Her hesitation fills Dean with dread.

"Yes, he has been speaking to us. That's actually why I have a few questions for you regarding his baseline mentation."

" _Baseline mentation?_ What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks somewhat defiantly.

"You mean, was he normal before all this?" Sam interjects.

"Yes, but more specifically, what was 'normal' for _him_?" Sara explains. Dean nearly has to stifle a laugh.

"Uh, he's always been a little...odd. But not, like, 'crazy' odd," Dean says.

"Odd how?" Sara asks. Again, Dean suppresses a smile.

"Well, he doesn't 'get' sarcasm or jokes, he takes things **very** literally, and he has issues with personal space... I could go on."

"He doesn't like people getting too close?" Sara questions.

"No, more like he has an issue with invading other people's personal space. Sorry, I wasn't clear on that," Dean says with a half grin.

"Ah. But no history of mental illness? Delusions? Hallucinations?"

"No," Sam says, sounding worried. "What has he been saying?"

"It's not uncommon for a person to be very confused after waking up from something like this..." Sara hesitates again.

"What are you trying to say?" Dean asks, panic rising in his chest once more. "What's he talking about?"

"He's saying angels attacked him, and that his 'powers' are gone and he needs to get out of here, and some stuff about demons- "

"Which ones?"

"Pardon?" Sara’s eyes are wide.

"I mean, like you said, he's probably just confused..." Dean recovers, relief flooding his body. _Cas is back!_ "He studied religion in college, and he reads lots of stuff about mythology, so maybe he's mixing it all up with reality."

* * *

"We gave him some Ativan to try and calm him down," Sara says as she slides the door open. Castiel's head snaps up at the sound. Relief washes over his face as his eyes land on Dean. Dean feels like his heart might explode as he tries to puzzle out the overwhelming emotion taking hold of him as he gazes at a living, breathing Cas.

"Cash, your brothers are here to see you." Panic flits across Castiel's face.

"She means us," Dean interjects, and Cas relaxes a little, before turning to Sara.

"I told you, my name is Castiel," he says to her, clearly frustrated. Sara glances at Dean. "Dean, tell her! My name is Castiel, and I am an Angel of the Lord." This time it's Sam desperately trying to evade a fit of laughter.

"Uh, Dean's my middle name," he stutters to Sarah.

"No it isn-" Castiel begins, but Dean races to interrupt him.

"Can we have a little time to talk with him?" Dean asks.

"Sure. Call if you need anything." As Sara leaves, Dean turns back to Castiel.

"I sure am glad to see you awake, Cas," Dean says with a wide grin as he walks to the side of the bed.

"Yeah, Cas, you had us worried there," Sam adds.

"I don't understand what is happening. Where am I?" The worry in Cas's eyes stabs at Dean. If Sam weren't there, he'd be tempted to take the angel's hand.

"You're in a hospital in Portland, Oregon. Been here for a number of days. We were hoping you'd be able to explain all this to us." Dean says, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"These people, Dean, they won't listen to me, and I feel so... so strange."

"Cas, what have I said about telling the truth?" Dean asks, bemused.

"That I shouldn't."

"Exactly. We've talked about this. Most humans don't believe in angels and demons, and even the ones who do, would probably think you're crazy if you claimed to see one, let alone, _be one_. So, Cas, please can the angel talk with anyone besides us or they'll lock you up here and we’ll have a hell of a time trying to get you out." Dean settles in the chair beside Castiel.

"Alright. Though I doubt I'll ever understand mankind's propensity for lying or denying reality..."  
"That's okay, Cas; you aren't the only one," Sam assures him. “Anyway, how do you _feel_ , Cas?” Sam asks.

“Different,” Cas answers after a brief reflection, “terrible, actually.”

“What? What do you mean?” Dean asks, his brows knit together in concern.

“My vessel, it… everything feels so… present… immediate. I can hardly put words to it. It’s like there was a sort of distance between the vessel and myself, and that distance is gone now; and it’s very… uncomfortable.” 

“Is Jimmy still kicking around in there with you?” Dean questions.

“No. I don’t think so. At least, I can’t feel his presence.” Castiel drops his chin to his chest, sighing. “But I can feel a… I don’t know, it’s irritating.”

“What’s irritating?” Dean asks.

“So many things. This thing in my nose, and the one in my arm, and the needlework on my abdomen…”

“The stitches?” Sam offers.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what you call it. It’s all so…”

“Itchy?” Dean guesses with raised eyebrows.

“Is that what it’s called when you want to scratch at something continually?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean replies, confused by all he’s hearing.

“Well, I was, and the people here tied my hands down, and I’ve just been laying here, and I can’t fly, or break free, or even scratch,” Cas groans. Only then do the brothers realize that Castiel’s wrists are in soft restraints, tied to his bed rails.

“Shit,” Sam mutters.

“We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can, Cas. Promise,” Dean says quietly. “I’ll ask if we can at least get you untied, but you gotta leave all the stuff attached to you alone. Sounds like your vessel needs it to stay alive.” Cas nods and yawns, an action neither of the brothers has seen him do before.

“You tired Cas?” Sam asks gently.

“I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open, and talking seems difficult.”

“You’re tired. You need to rest to heal,” Sam states simply.

“But angels don’t sleep,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “Cas, what’s going on? You’ve been asleep for days.”

“Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew?” Castiel snaps at Dean. When he looks up and sees the expression in Dean’s eyes he quickly adds, “I’m sorry. I’m overwhelmed. This is all very confusing.”

“It’s alright, Cas. You should probably get some rest,” Dean replies.

“Will you -,” Cas begins hesitantly.

“I’ll be right here,” Dean answers. 

Sam says his goodbyes, dimming the lights on his way out the door, and Dean sits at the angel’s side, watching as he quietly drifts back to sleep. When he is sure Sam is gone and Castiel is asleep, Dean reaches out to hold Cas’s hand in his own.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel sleeps fitfully. Dean is torn between letting him sleep and wanting to wake him from the nightmares he seems to be having. Finally, during one particularly violent moment of thrashing, Dean breaks down and shakes his friend awake. 

“Cas! Cas, it’s alright,” Dean says softly as Castiel’s eyes flash open revealing a terror that Dean has never seen there before. It seems to take a moment for Castiel to remember where he is as he strains against the wrist restraints. “Hey, hey, Cas, you’re gonna be okay,” Dean says, placing a hand on the side of Castiel’s neck as he tries to calm him. “Look at me, Cas.” Castiel’s eyes lock on Dean’s. “What were you dreaming about?” Dean asks gently. He can feel the pulse at Cas’s throat, quick but gradually slowing. 

“I wasn’t dreaming,” Cas replies, a grave look coming across his face, “I was remembering.” Dean is silent, the fear in Cas’s deep blue eyes fills him with dread. “The garrison turned on me,” Cas murmured, almost to himself. “My brothers and sisters surrounded me; they took something from me.”

“They attacked you?” Dean asks quietly. 

“Yes,” Cas confirms. His hands are shaking in their restraints; Dean grabs the hand nearest him. Cas’s eyes flash up to his. 

“Hey,” Dean says comfortingly, “You’ve got us, Cas, me and Sam. We’re with you here. You said they took something from you.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel nearly whispers, “my grace.”

“What?” Dean gasps, stunned. 

“One of my brothers reached into me and tore it out. They’ve trapped me in my vessel, powerless.” Cas laughs darkly to himself, “I’m sure they thought it a fitting punishment.”

“A punishment for what, Cas?” Dean asks, still holding his friend’s hand tightly in his own. 

“For getting too close to humanity… we were meant to watch over mankind, but from a distance. I overstepped.”

“This is my fault,” Dean sighs.

“No, Dean, it isn’t.” Cas’s sorrowful eyes search Dean, quizzical. “What makes you say that?” Dean opens his mouth but it takes a moment before he can find the words he wants. 

“It’s me, Cas; I’m the one you got too close to. You told me that yourself! You told me that you chose me over the other angels.” Dean’s voice is threatening to break with emotion. 

“Yes. I did. _**I**_ did; how is that your fault?” Dean could see truly that there was no accusation or anger in Castiel’s eyes, only sorrow and fear: very human fear.

“And would you have gotten so close to me if I hadn’t called you down every time I needed anything? I was selfish, Cas, and I’m so sorry for that, not that an apology makes much damn difference at this point.”

“I was too close the moment I pulled you out of hell. There’s nothing you’ve done or could have done to change that.” The two men sit quietly for a while before Dean breaks the silence. 

“So, how do we get it back?” he asks suddenly. 

“What?”

“Your grace. How do we get it back?” Dean tries desperately to sound like his usual, cavalier self. 

“I don’t know that we do,” Cas replies despondently. 

“C’mon, Cas, a human soul can be removed and put back, right? Can’t you do the same thing with grace?” Dean is spitballing, but something tells him there has to be a way. 

“Dean, I’m powerless. How do you expect me to help you fight them?” Dean’s chest aches for Cas, the man who could once both kill and heal with the touch of a hand, now bound, wrists and ankles, to a hospital bed, terrified and in pain. 

“Cas, we’ve been up against odds like these before. Aren’t you supposed to be all about faith anyway?” Dean tries to lighten Castiel’s mood with a pleasant tone, but it doesn’t do a lot of good. He grasps his friend’s shoulder instead, lowering his voice. “I know it looks bleak, but I’m here for you. I owe you at least that much.” A weak smile flickers across Cas’s face as he looks up at Dean. He tries to reach for Dean’s hand, but the restraint on his wrist stops him. Dean realizes what Cas wants and takes his hand again. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says quietly after a moment. Dean may have many shortcomings, but disloyalty is not one of them, and for that, Cas is sincerely grateful.

* * *

Dean stays at Castiel’s side through fits of restless sleep and periods of silent wakefulness. The sensation of full “humanness” seems at times too much for Castiel to take in. The trivialities of discomfort due to everyday itches, hunger, and stiff muscles overwhelm him. 

“How do you do it, Dean?” Castiel questions pitifully.

“Do what?”

 _”Live like this?”_ Castiel adds. When he moves he winces, reaching a hand toward his bandaged abdomen. 

“I sometimes wonder that myself, Cas.” Dean attempts a soothing tone. “Hey, are you in pain?” he asks, registering the unease in those intensely blue eyes. Castiel nods weakly. 

“I think so, probably.” Dean can’t help a gentle smile at his friend’s naïveté. 

“The nurse can give you drugs for that, Cas. Have you asked?” He hasn’t. Dean leaves briefly and returns with Sara. 

“Your brother tells me you’re in pain,” she says calmly. “Please be sure to let us know in the future; it’s important that we keep your pain under control.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas replies, head bowed, “l didn’t know.” Dean smiles at him. 

“It’s okay! We just want to be sure you’re comfortable,” Sara says as she draws up the medication and prepares to inject it into his IV. “I’m giving you morphine. It will probably make you sleepy, but you should feel a lot better.” 

“Do you think he could be untied? He understands he can’t mess with any of the stuff attached to him now,” Dean explains. 

“Is that right, Cash?” Sara asks. “It’s very important you don’t pull at any of these lines.”

“I understand,” Castiel says quietly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him too,” Dean assures. 

Moments after the injection, Castiel’s eyes soften and he seems to sink back in his pillows, his body releasing much of the tension it had evidently been holding. Sara reminds him once more to alert her when the pain begins to return, and Castiel nods his understanding before letting his eyes fall gently closed. Before she leaves, she gestures to Dean, indicating that she’d like to speak with him outside for a moment. 

“How are you holding up, Rob?” she asks kindly. 

“Oh,” Dean replies, surprised at her concern for him, “I’m, uh, I’m good. Just glad he’s awake.”

“Good. How does Cash seem to be taking everything? Do either of you have any concerns?” Dean almost laughs at how the _honest_ answer to that would sound. 

“I know he just wants to go home, but I think he’s doing well. He doesn’t seem so confused today. By the way, he understands angels and demons aren’t real… he was pretty embarrassed when we told him what he’d been saying.”

Sara smiles. “Be sure to tell him there’s no need to be embarrassed; we’ve heard a lot stranger!”


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel’s spirits seem to lift some after the restraints are removed from his wrists and ankles. 

“At least now I can scratch myself,” Cas says dryly to Dean. “Are human bodies _always_ this itchy?” he asks, scratching the side of his neck before running his fingernails over his scalp. Dean has to stifle his laughter. 

“Uh, I dunno, Cas, maybe sometimes?” he replies unhelpfully. Castiel huffs and sinks dramatically back into his pillow.

“I’ve understood human anatomy and physiology for millennia, I mean, I watched you guys evolve, but I never realized how uncomfortable it all is! Not to mention time consuming, what with all the eating and sleeping and urinating and -“

“Yeah Cas, I get it,” Dean interrupts, “it sucks… well not all of it. I happen to enjoy eating and sleeping.”

“I know you do.” Cas sighs, looking out the window at another rainy Portland day. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks, his tone indicating a change in the topic of conversation. 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas responds, turning to meet Dean’s gaze. 

“Uh, when they let you out of here, I uh, I was wondering if you might wanna come stay with Sam and me.” As a divine being, Dean is sure Castiel could take care of himself, but as a human? Dean has his doubts. Cas seems so helpless now, and Dean has to admit to himself that the thought of Cas on his own scares the shit out of him. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers, a weak smile on his lips, “I think I would like that, thank you.”

“Of course! We’ll do anything we can to help you out.” 

“Do you think they’ll let me go soon?”

“I’m not sure, but they were talking about moving you out of the ICU, so that’s good. The doctors always seem impressed by the speed of your recovery. I was actually gonna ask you about that…”

“What do you mean? I’ve been in here over a week; that doesn’t seem very fast at all,” Cas replies dejectedly. 

“Cas, most people who bleed out don’t wake up! Most people with injuries like yours spend weeks or months in the ICU and a lot of them don’t ever get back to 100%,” Dean retorts. “Are you sure you’re completely human?”

“Yes, Dean. My abilities are gone. My body may be healing, but I haven’t felt any semblance of my grace, though it may be possible there are remnants.”

“Remnants?” Dean asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“Yes. It is nearly impossible to remove an angel’s grace completely. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like the grace tears instead of coming out whole, leaving small traces behind. It’s possible that the small traces of grace are helping my body heal even though there is not enough grace for me to feel or use.” Cas stares at his hands as he speaks, his tone somber. 

“Well, that’s good...right? Is it possible to regenerate your grace from the leftovers?” Castiel tilts his head, eying Dean seriously at the word “leftovers.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening,” he answers after a moment. 

“At least you’re healing fast I guess,” Dean sighs. “I can’t say I’ll miss hanging out in this place.”

“Why are you?” Cas asks quietly. 

“Why am I what?” Dean stares at his friend blankly. 

“Spending so much time here. Doesn’t Sam have a lead on a new job or something?” Dean can’t believe his ears. 

“What? C’mon, Cas, what are you talking about? We can’t take off while you’re still in here!” For some reason Dean finds it easier to say “we” than “I,” though the truth is that as thankful as Sam is for all the times Cas has helped them out, it’s Dean who can’t bear to leave the angel behind. “I mean, you’re like family, Cas,” he adds softly. When he looks up again, he is met by that pair of devastatingly blue eyes. The gaze is intense, and Dean wants to look away, but he can’t. Something of an understanding seems to pass between the two men, and Dean feels a warmth spread in his chest as Castiel’s face registers a hint of a smile, softening. When the moment passes, Dean shakes himself imperceptibly. _The fuck was that?_ he asks in his head.

* * *

The next day Dean enters the ICU and finds Cas sitting in a chair in front of the window in his room. 

“Hey man, you’re out of bed!” Dean exclaims as he approaches his friend. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies calmly. “What is that?” Dean is holding a pot containing a plant that looks as if it has seen better days. 

“Uh, yeah, I, uh, got this for you last week cuz I know you like plants and stuff, and then I forgot it in the back of the Impala, so it dried out and tipped over, but maybe it’ll come back if it gets watered and someone else is in charge of it...I apparently can’t nurture shit.” Dean hands Castiel the pot. It’s a miniature rose bush, or was one before Dean bought it and let it roll around in the back seat for a week. Castiel runs his fingers over the lettering on the pot, _Portland, Oregon, City of Roses._

“Thank you, Dean, that’s very thoughtful.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not thoughtful,” Dean answers with a wink. “Just, do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t tell Sam if it doesn’t survive…he bet I’d kill it before I got it to you.”

“What if Sam asks me about it?” Castiel asks seriously. 

“Lie.”

“That seems… unnecessary,” Cas says, his brow furrowed. Dean laughs, a wide grin on his face.

“I’m just joking with you! You can say whatever you want, Cas,” he replies, resting a hand on Cas’s shoulder. 

“Oh,” Cas chuckles, “I guess I’m still learning when it comes to humor.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Dean pulls up another chair to sit by Castiel’s side. Cas is still looking as the rose bush. Its leaves are dry and a few stems are bent. The few blooms it had are wilted pathetically. Cas picks up his water glass and empties it at the base of the plant. Dean watches absentmindedly as Cas runs his fingers over a few of the dry leaves and blooms. The next moment, Dean’s eyes are wide.

“Holy shit, dude!” Dean exclaims. The rose bush has fully bloomed, its leaves suddenly dark green, a sweet smell filling the air around them. 

“I guess it just needed some water,” Cas says casually. 

“Dude, that’s not how plants work! Well, I don’t think it is. How did you do that?” Dean can’t hide his excitement. 

“I don’t know, Dean. I didn’t do anything consciously. I told you, if there’s some remnant of grace in me, it’s power isn’t available to me.” 

Just then Sara enters the room.

“Oh, that’s very pretty!” she says when she sees the rose bush. “It’s time for your pain meds. Are you ready to get back in bed?”

“Yes, I think so,” Castiel answers. Sara takes the pot from Cas, placing it gently on the table beside his bed. Dean watches as she helps Cas stand. He winces as she helps him move slowly to the bed. It always unsettles Dean to see Castiel exhibit signs of pain; it’s something he still isn’t used to. When he’s settled in bed, Sara administers the medication, and Dean watches as Cas relaxes again. Until seeing him out of bed and walking, Dean hadn’t realized how thin Castiel had become. It’s shocking, and Dean struggles to remind himself that Cas is, in reality, recovering very well. 

“Did Cash tell you the good news?” Sara asks Dean after Cas is settled into bed.

“No. What good news?” Dean looks at Cas, but his face is expressionless. 

“He’s scheduled to be moved out of the ICU tomorrow,” Sara answers, smiling. 

“That’s great!” Dean exclaims. “You could bother to tell me these things, buddy,” Dean says to Cas, thumping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was important,” Cas replies. 

“Of course it is! It means you’re getting better. Next step is going home, right?” Dean looks at Sara. 

“Yep,” she answers. “I have to admit, I’ll miss you both, but seeing patients recover and move out of here is one of my favorite parts of the job.” She smiles. 

“That is very kind of you to say,” Castiel says softly. “I’m sorry your mother wasn’t able to move out like I am. I know she’s very proud of the work you do.” Suddenly, Sara is silent, her mouth hanging open, the empty syringe dropping from her hand before she can realize it’s happening. She is held by Castiel’s gaze, his blue eyes wide, penetrating in their intensity. Dean’s brow is furrowed in confusion. 

“H-how did you know that?” she finally stammers, ducking to pick up the fallen syringe. Castiel bites his lip, thinking. 

“Know what?” asks Dean. 

“My mother was killed by a drunk driver 20 years ago, when I was eleven. After the crash, she was in intensive care, but she never woke up. It was the worst experience of my life, but all the nurses were so nice to me. It’s the reason I decided to go to nursing school...but I never really tell anybody that.” 

“Wow.” Dean lets out a big breath. “I’m sorry that happened… we lost our mom as kids too. Maybe you two talked about that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rob,” Sara says, “but I don’t think we did discuss that. I would have remembered that.” She continues to look as if she’s seen a ghost. “Cash, how do you know about my mom?” Castiel swallows audibly. 

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he stumbles over the words. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok,” she replies, “maybe I did say something about it… anyway, I hope she would be proud.”

“She is,” Castiel confirms as Dean fixes him with a hard stare. Sara simply gives him another sidelong look before gathering her supplies and excusing herself from the room. 

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean exclaims, turning toward him. 

“What?”

“It’s like the goddamn strip club all over again!” __

_“What?”_

“Remember, you got us kicked out for freaking that chick out by knowing random shit about her?”

“Oh, yes. I remember now, Dean.”

“So, how did you know that?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. Maybe I just remember some stuff about some people.”

“Hmph,” is all Dean says in reply.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So update: I’ve been watching season 9, and i’m Like what?! So um I started writing this before I knew Cas turns human in the show for a while or whatever...Uh so yeah, this fic is totally canon divergent, and follows no real timeline. Lol.

"Hey Cas! Nice to see you hooked up to fewer things," Sam says with a smile as he enters the room Castiel has been moved to. There are indeed fewer machines in the room, fewer sounds, and less space in general. "How are you feeling?" Castiel's eyes rise to meet Sam's; they look tired. 

"Ok, I suppose. I had to practice tying my shoes today. I guess it's something I'm supposed to have known how to do before. The woman seemed worried when I didn't know how."

"Huh. Fun stuff." Cas shakes his head. 

"Actually it's quite frustrating... where is Dean?"

"He's coming. Just had to find parking and he wanted to talk to your nurse." Sam eases himself into a chair in the corner of the room. If he didn't know any better, he would think Castiel looks _relieved_ to hear that Dean is on his way. 

"Hey, aren't you hungry?" Sam asks, eyeing the untouched sandwich on a tray in front of Cas. 

"No," he answers, "go ahead, if you want it," he offers even though Sam really wasn't asking. 

"Well, I guess, if you're not gonna eat it..." Sam takes a bite just as Dean enters. 

"Really, Sammy?" he says accusatorially, "eating his lunch?"

"Wha-?" Sam says with a shrug, his mouth full. Dean laughs, grabbing Cas's Jell-O cup and flopping into the chair beside him. 

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says dryly, "please help yourself to my food."

"Sarcasm! I like it," Dean says smiling, squeezing Cas's shoulder and eliciting a ghost of a smile from him. "Anyway, you look good, Cas. How you feeling?"

"Bored, I guess. I can't seem to just sit still for hours anymore; my body just gets all twitchy and uncomfortable."

"Yeah," Dean nods, "most humans like moving around and doing stuff. We don't have the same attention span angels seem to." He chuckles to himself, licking the foil Jell-O lid. Sam raises an eyebrow at him, he glares back, and Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes. Castiel stares at the silent conversation the brothers share. 

"I wish I had that," Castiel murmurs. 

"What, Cas?" Sam asks thoughtfully as Dean simply gazes at him with a puzzled expression. 

"What you have, with Dean."

"What? A gross older brother?"

"Hey!" Dean interjects in indignation. 

"No," Cas says seriously, "family. Another being so close to you, you don't even have to speak to understand each other." His eyes are sad when he looks up at Dean. Sam looks at Castiel sympathetically. 

"You have us," Sam says kindly, "I can share my gross older brother with you."

"Hey!" Dean exclaims again, "I must not be _that_ gross, I mean, I've scored with a lot more women than you have..."

"Dude, you're licking an empty Jell-O cup when there's a spoon _right there_!" Sam protests, gesturing at the tray in front of Castiel. Dean only winks at him suggestively and does something obscene with his tongue. "Eww," Sam scowls. "Aaaany way, what I was saying was, we can be your family, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam, that's very kind," Castiel says quietly, "I'd like to apologize for calling you an 'abomination' that one time." Dean snorts out a laugh as Sam clears his throat, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

"Water under the bridge, Cas," he says finally, "don't worry about it." Castiel smiles before turning to Dean. 

"So when do I get to leave here with you guys?" he asks, and Dean can sense his frustration. 

"I talked to your nurse just now, and she said that the doctors think you're almost ready; they just want the physical and occupational therapists to deem you ready to do stuff on your own," Dean answers. 

"Ugh.... Dean, I don't even have an occupation! Why do I need a therapist for it?" Cas looks disgruntled. 

"Dude, I don't know, it's just what she said."

"Cas, it's the woman you were telling me about earlier. The one who was worried about you tying your shoes," Sam interjects. "The physical therapist gets you moving again, and the occupational therapist makes sure you know how to perform everyday activities like brushing your teeth and dressing yourself; It's not about an occupation."

"Score one more for Dr. House," Dean mutters under his breath and Sam glares at him. 

"Can't I just learn all that from you guys?" Cas asks, bordering on whining. 

"Probably, but I dunno, Cas, you barely knew how to do that shit before all this happened; maybe it's best you learn from a professional," Dean says lightheartedly. 

"Yeah, Cas," Sam agrees, "I know it's frustrating. We want you out of here too, believe me! But everyone here is just trying to help you get back on your feet." Just then, another man enters the room. 

"Hello, Daniel," Cas says, though not cheerfully. 

"Good to see you, Cash. I'm the physical therapist," he says, turning to Dean and then Sam as all the introductions are made. 

"Well, speak of the devil," Dean says, realizing afterward that it's probably not the best turn of phrase given past events. "Cas-sh, Cash was just telling us how much he'd like to go home. How's he doing? Think it might be soon?"

"He's doing well. In this field progress can be excruciatingly slow, but it's progress nonetheless. Cash, you're improving, walking a little further every day. Keep it up, and you could be ready in week or so. Of course you'd have to keep your exercises up at home too."

"That's great," Dean says to Cas, though Cas looks crestfallen at the prospect of spending _another_ week or more in the hospital. 

Sam and Dean look on as Daniel helps Castiel out of bed. Cas winces as he pushes himself up from the bed to standing, holding his abdomen. Dean's brow furrows as he watches Castiel, guided by Daniel, take one painful step after another. He must make a sound, because Sam asks "you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine," he lies. He hates this: seeing Cas struggle, and seeing him in pain.

* * *

That evening, everything is quiet. Sam has gone back to the hotel, but Dean sits at Castiel's side. They're silent as Dean scoots his chair closer to the bed, leaning against the rail. Slowly, he takes Cas's hand, and Cas looks over at him. 

"Hey," Dean begins softly. "I'm sorry..." And goddammit, there're suddenly goddamn tears in his fucking eyes. He fights them back, causing his nose to run. He sniffs, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, and clears his throat. "I'm sorry this all sucks so bad, and you have to go through all this shit." Cas blinks slowly and squeezes Dean's hand a little more tightly. "You gotta believe me, I'd do it all for you, instead of you, if I could." Castiel gazes at Dean solemnly. 

"I would never ask that of you, Dean," he says plainly. 

"I know you wouldn't, but I wish I could anyway."

"You're a good man, Dean." Dean shakes his head.

"I don't know about that..."

"I do," Cas says, gripping his hand tighter, "and I know Sam does too."

"Cas, I have fucked up so many damn things, and I just keep fucking up..." And now his frustration and anger and sorrow is rolling down his face in the form of those goddamn tears, and he is powerless to stop it. 

"Dean, we all make mistakes. But you keep trying to do the right things," Cas attempts a comforting tone. 

"At some point, trying just won't cut it anymore, and then what!?"

"Dean," Castiel says firmly, sitting up and leaning in closer to him. Cas reaches his free hand out and places it at the side of Dean's neck. They are so close, closer than Dean would feel comfortable being to anybody else. "Dean," Cas says again, and they hold each others' gaze. "You're the only thing I still have faith in." Dean's breath catches for a moment as the words hit him like a semi truck, and he doesn't know what to say. When Cas leans back against his pillows again, his hand sliding from Dean's neck, Dean is unsettled to find he misses the touch. _This whole thing's got me real fucked up,_ he thinks to himself, but the side of his neck continues to tingle where Cas's hand has left its warmth. 

"I have faith in you too, Cas," Dean stammers finally and they sit quietly for some time before Dean remembers what he really had wanted to say before the conversation had devolved into tears and self-doubt.

"Cas, what I really wanted to say is this: please don't give up. I know you're frustrated; I can see it all over your face. But I want you out of here. I _really_ want you out of here and back with Sam and me. I never saw angel-Cas back away from a challenge, and I expect the same from human-Cas," Dean ends with finality. Cas looks up at him with big blue eyes full of fear and doubt. 

"One foot in front of the other, Cas: that's how us humans do it. I know I have no right asking anything else of you ever, but I am anyway. Please do this for me. Just a few more steps every day, and we'll get to take you with us." Castiel nods gravely. 

"Alright, Dean, I will try my best." Dean smiles at him, igniting the tiniest spark of hope within his chest. 

Dean ultimately stands and stretches, yawning and checking his pockets for his wallet and keys, a little lump forms in Castiel's throat. It's late, and Dean needs to sleep. He wishes Cas a good night and promises to see him for lunch the next day, but when Dean's hand is on the doorknob, Castiel is surprised to hear his own voice.

"Dean?" Cas says hesitantly. Dean pauses to turn toward him. "I would like to ask something of you."

"Sure, Cas, what is it?"

"Would you...uh...mind staying?" 

"Uh, yeah, okay, I... I just don't know where I'll sleep, and I'm tired as shit." Dean hasn't spent the night at the hospital since Cas started to really improve, and unlike the ICU, the floor Castiel is on now is much more cramped, without any sleeping space for visitors, but the look on Cas's face, coupled with the load of guilt Dean harbors is enough to make up his mind. "But yeah, of course I'll stay." With that, a smile flickers across Castiel's lips. 

"You can sleep next to me; there's enough room if I move over." Dean eyes the bed, and then the floor (his only other option), and then the bed again. It's only slightly wider than a twin, but still, compared to the tile floor... 

"Hmm, ok I guess, but I'm keeping all my clothes on," Dean says without thinking which only serves to confuse him more. Cas looks confused by the comment too, but scoots over to one side as far as he can before peeling the blankets back on the other side as an invitation to Dean. 

"Uh, nah, I'm good, plenty warm in my jacket, thanks," Dean says, hurriedly returning the blankets to where they had been. He sounds nervous, and stands awkwardly at the side of the bed. 

"Are you going to lay down, Dean?" Castiel asks at last. Dean jumps a little, shaken out of whatever stream of consciousness was flowing through his head. 

"Yeah, yeah, of course...just gotta turn the light off first." He does so before stiffly lowering himself down to the bed. He lays on his back, on top of the blankets, boots still on, and folds his arms over his chest, pulling his leather jacket tightly around himself. He doesn't know why he is so uncomfortable, almost nervous, until he hears his dad's voice in his head. John Winchester had very strong opinions on what makes a person a real man, and sleeping with other men was not one of those things. Dean does his best to bottle that shit up for now, pushing it from his mind as best he can, and when Castiel shifts, curling onto his side, his head resting gently against Dean's shoulder, he doesn't jump out of bed or push him back to his side of the bed. Instead, he whispers, "night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean." And slowly, Dean drifts to sleep listening to his friend's steady breaths.


	10. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's a feeling I get_  
>  When I look to the west  
> And my spirit is crying for leaving  
> In my thoughts I have seen  
> Rings of smoke through the trees  
> And the voices of those who standing looking  
> Ooh, it makes me wonder  
> Ooh, it really makes me wonder 
> 
> -Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I’m proud I updated again so soon! Super fluffy chapter, but hey! At least I’m writing....figured the guys could use a break from all the angst anyway....

Cas does as he promised Dean; every day he pushes himself to walk a little further and keep to his exercise schedule, slowly working through the list of stretches the physical therapist instructed him to do while in bed. To his relief, he can feel his body becoming stronger, even if the progress is slower than he would like. In return, Dean stays with Cas most nights. Castiel sleeps better when Dean is with him, but Dean, doesn’t sleep well at all, mostly because of his stubborn refusal to undress, share a blanket, or really get comfortable in any way. On top of it all, Dean leaps off of bed the instant he thinks anyone might be coming into the room. 

“Dean, why do you get up so fast whenever another person is at the door?” Castiel asks one morning over breakfast. 

“Uh, I dunno,” Dean replies, staring down at his toast. “I just… Well I’m probably not supposed to be crowding you too much while you’re still recovering…” It’s one of Dean’s most pathetic lies, and he senses that Cas can see right through it. 

“Look, Cas, it’s nothing personal, okay? I just don’t want anyone to look at us weird.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because, Cas, sleeping together is kind of a special thing to humans.”

“But they think we’re brothers, Dean.”

“I know. That would still be weird. Do you see me sleeping with Sam?” Cas furrows his brow. 

“I used to.” Dean’s jaw drops and his eyes are wide.

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean says a little louder than he means to. 

“When you were younger. When John was gone.” Dean remembers well, many cold nights in the back seat of the Impala, arms wrapped around a shivering, much smaller, Sammy. 

“Dude! You were watching us sleep way back then? That is _so freaking weird_ ,” Dean exclaims. “What else have you watched me do? Wait! Never mind, I don’t even want to know.”

“Dean, are you mad?” Cas asks with those innocent puppy dog eyes that rival even young Sammy’s. 

“No, I’m not mad, I just, look, never mind,” Dean says, flustered, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were just kids. Adults don’t really share beds unless they’re really close.”

“We’re really close, Dean.”

“Not like that, we’re not,” Dean bites back. “I’m talking about _romantically_ close.”

“Oh, I understand.” Cas stares at the bowl of fruit in front of him, pushing pieces of melon around with his fork. “Human relationships are so _confusing_.”

“Yeah, man, I hear you,” Dean smiles, clapping Cas on the shoulder. “We make everything more complicated than it needs to be. For being so advanced, we’re kinda a dumb species.” Castiel’s lips quirk into a smile.

“Well angels are dumb too, and we think we have God on our side. It’s a dangerous combination.” Dean snorts. 

“At least you all agree on which god you’re talking about. Humans also think they have god on their side, but we can’t decide which god, and each group of humans has a different side.”

“It did get old watching one war after another. Turn your back for one second and there’s a new war on a different continent. Exhausting.” Castiel rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s mankind for you,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair. “Speaking of exhausting, how’s your PT going? They say when you’re coming home yet?”

“No.” Castiel’s face is dark. “I’m trying though, Dean. I’m trying _so hard_.” Dean doesn’t like the look of despair on Cas’s face. 

“Hey,” he says, taking Cas’s hand, “I know you are. I’m proud of you, man.” The reassurance brings a weak smile to Cas’s lips.

* * *

Dean returns to the motel that night to get some decent sleep. 

“I’m about ready to bust him outta there myself,” he sighs as he drops his keys and a six pack of some fancy-ass Portland IPA Sam requested down on their cheap motel room table. Sam grabs a beer and offers one to Dean.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean says, pulling the flask out of his jacket pocket. Sam gives him a look, but says nothing. 

“He’s getting better though, right?” Sam asks eventually. 

“Yeah, but I can tell he’s sick of all of it, and can you blame him?” Dean kicks his boots off and flops down on his bed. 

“Hey, why don’t you give him this? I feel like a dumbass for not thinking of it earlier,” Sam says as he tosses on older model iPhone at Dean, followed by a pair of headphones. “There’s no phone plan on it, but he could use the hospital WiFi.”

“You expect me to explain WiFi to Cas?” Dean asks skeptically. 

“You need me to explain it to _you_ first, old man?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean snips back. 

“Dude, you have like ten different phones and they’re _all_ flip phones!”

“Well, excuse me for not being a hipster douchebag.”

“Using modern day technology doesn’t make you a hipster, Mr. ‘everything sounds better on vinyl’… anyway, that’s not the point. Just give it to Cas; might distract him for a while.”

“Okay, but I don’t want anyone crying to me when a nurse walks in on him after he’s discovered you can watch porn on these things,” Dean says, waving the phone at Sam. 

Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Everything leads to porn with you, doesn’t it, Dean?”

“Hey! Not _everything_...and yeah, everything _does_ sound better on vinyl!”

* * *

Cas turns the phone over in his hands. 

“Thanks, Dean.”

“Thank Sammy, it’s one of his old ones.”

“Uh, what can I do with it? I don’t need to call anyone.” 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, well that one doesn’t really call people, anyway.” Cas looks confused. “But you can listen to music and read stuff online or like play games and shit.”

“Ahh!” Cas gasps suddenly, and Dean jumps, startled. 

“Jesus, Cas, what was that?”

“Sorry,” he says, “it took a picture of me. I look terrible.”

Dean laughs again. “Yeah, I hear that’ll happen.”

* * *

When he returns later in the evening, Dean finds that a nurse has introduced Castiel to Candy Crush. 

“Oh no, man, that’s a dark road you don’t wanna start down!”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Cas says, not looking up from the game. 

“It’s like a drug; I hear you can’t quit,” Dean jokes.

“I can quit any time I want,” Cas states calmly, eyes still glued to the screen. 

“That’s what they all say. Hey, can I see that for a second?”

“Hey! I was just about to beat that level!” Cas whines as Dean grabs the phone. Dean scrolls through the apps, looking for music, when he stumbles upon something much worse. 

“Son of a bitch! She got you signed up for _Facebook? Fucking facebook!?_ ” Dean groans, opening the app. “Aaaand, you’re friends with Sam… of course. Well that’s just perfect.”

“You seem upset,” Castiel states matter-of-factly. “I’ll add you too, Dean.”

“I am not on Facebook,” Dean deadpans. 

“Why?”

“As I have told Sam many times, about many different things:  
I have been too busy having sex with women.”

“But, you could find women on Facebook-”

“Never mind, Cas, we’re not having this conversation… oh, one thing though: if any website tells you there are ‘hot singles’ in your area, it’s a trap. Don’t fall for it.”

“Ok, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas, have you been listening to any music on here?”

“A little, why?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says rather dramatically.

“What for?” Cas is wearing his standard puzzled expression.

“I love the kid to death, but god help him, Sammy’s got some shit taste in music. I’m gonna put something good on here.”

“I didn’t think it was so bad…”

“Oh, Cas, don’t you worry your sweet little head,” Dean says absentmindedly as he scrolls through iTunes. “This will be much better.” Minutes later, Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he shifts in his seat to retrieve it. It’s a text from Sam:

_**dude! Y was my credit card charged for the led zeppelin discography!?** _

Dean replies. 

_**dont worry bout it**_

_**jerk** _

_**bitch** _

When Dean finally hands the phone back to Castiel, he scrolls through the new albums. 

“Where should I start?” he asks, looking up at Dean. 

“Doesn’t really matter; it’s all good,” Dean replies confidently. 

“Stairway to heaven?” Cas reads aloud, “that doesn’t make any sense.”

“What?”

“No such thing exists,” Castiel continues, brows knit together “I mean, the physics alone-“

“It’s just a song, Cas,” Dean interrupts irritably, “of course it’s not a real thing. The important thing is the guitar solo - which is kickass, by the way.”

“If you say so,” Cas replies, resigned. 

Later, when it’s dark outside and the lights are off, and Dean is once again laying on his back on top of the blankets on Cas’s bed, he can hear the faint notes of Stairway to Heaven emanating from Cas’s headphones as Cas drifts to sleep again, his head against Dean’s shoulder. Dean can’t help but smile to himself.


	11. Chapter 11

At last, the day arrives, and Cas is going home, although “home” probably isn’t the right word for a cheap motel room containing a small table, two chairs, two queen beds, a mini fridge, and a bathroom; but he is not alone, and really, isn’t that the important aspect of “home?” 

Once Castiel is checked over a final time, and the IV removed from his arm, the nurse excuses herself and Dean helps him dress in the clean clothes he was able to scrounge up amidst the clutter of the motel room. 

“You look good in real clothes again,” Dean says happily, once Cas is dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed in one of Dean’s old Zeppelin tees and a pair of Sam’s old pajama pants that have shrunk far too much for Sam, but fit Cas decently. The Zeppelin shirt is one of those featuring the iconic image of Icarus, which Dean only now realizes is almost too ironic given how closely Icarus resembles a fallen angel. 

“You comfortable Cas?” Dean asks. Ever since Cas’s vessel became his body, he has become hypersensitive to the sensations most humans take little notice of. Certain types of fabric make him itch uncontrollably, the constant hums and beeps of the hospital machinery become nearly unbearable, the cold floor is shocking beneath his bare feet, and hot tap water causes him to recoil as though he’s been scalded. 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas answers, “these clothes are quite comfortable.” Good. Dean thought they would be. A member of the hospital administration enters and hands Castiel a final stack of discharge paperwork, which he looks down at like a deer into headlights. Dean helps him sign where he is supposed to, and he is one step closer to leaving. As they sit quietly, waiting for the nurse’s assistant who will escort them out, Dean notices a slight tremble in Cas’s hands. 

“Hey, man, you ok?” Dean asks. Cas sighs and looks at his feet, head bowed. “Here,” Dean offers and helps Castiel pull on a soft sweatshirt, zipping the front for him. Cas catches his hand as he pulls up the zipper.

“I’m … I’m just scared,” Cas says quietly, glancing shyly up at Dean. Dean squeezes his hand a little and sits beside him on the bed. It’s the first time Cas has really said it out loud, and it, combined with the look in his blue eyes, sends a pain through Dean’s chest

“It’s gonna be ok, man. Sammy and I will help you get the hang of things while we figure out how to fix this,” Dean assures him. “You got this,” he adds, thumping Cas gently on the back as he stands again. 

The nurse’s aide arrives with a wheelchair to take Cas down to the entrance while Dean brings the car around. Castiel gazes around as he’s wheeled down the many long corridors of the hospital, taking in the sweeping views of the river and city as they pass windows. The world looks so big out there all of a sudden, and Cas can feel anxiety building in his chest. He tightens his grip on the, now flourishing, miniature rose bush he holds in his lap. The hospital was tedious and often uncomfortable, but he had begun to feel at ease, trusting that the nurses and various staff members were all there to help him. Outside the hospital walls, he doesn’t know who he can trust, aside from Dean and his brother.

* * *

“Woah, nice ride,” the aide says as Dean steps out of the Impala.

“Yes, she is,” he replies with that cocky Dean Winchester grin, patting the top of the car with his hand before reaching out to take the rose bush from Cas, placing it in the car. Then he offers his hand to Castiel, helping him stand. The aide wishes them well and Dean walks Cas to the passenger’s side door, opening it for him. Cas slides into the seat with a groan and Dean shuts the door before circling back to the driver’s side. When he climbs back into the car, Dean turns to look at Cas for a moment, a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Dean says with a smile that makes Cas feel a little warm inside, easing the anxiety in his chest slightly. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says in reply, “for everything.” Dean grins and looks down. He always feels embarrassed to receive thanks or compliments. 

“Any time, Cas,” he says, clearing his throat and putting the car in gear. Castiel holds the rose bush securely against himself as Dean begins to drive.

* * *

“Hey Cas!” Sam says enthusiastically as Dean guides him into the motel room. Sam pulls Castiel into an embrace, loosening his grip when Cas winces. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s just, it’s good to see you out of the hospital.” He smiles and gestures for Cas to sit down on one of the beds. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Dean asks, setting Castiel’s small sack of belongings in one of the chairs and the rose bush on the table by the window.

“Water would be nice,” Castiel answers. His mouth and throat feel uncomfortably dry, though his palms and feet are uncomfortably damp. Dean hands him a glass and sits opposite him. 

“So,” says Dean, exhaling, “what now?”

“What do you mean?” Cas looks up at him, blue eyes meeting green.

“Well, what do you want to do now? You hungry?”

“I’m…” Cas closes his eyes, pausing to assess the feelings in his body. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure this is all pretty overwhelming,” Sam offers. 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, and gladly lays back against the pillows on the bed as Dean pulls his shoes off. Cas is asleep in minutes. His body trembles despite the sweatshirt he is wearing, and Dean gently tugs the blankets over him. When Dean straightens back up, Sam is staring at him with a goofy grin,

“What?” Dean asks gruffly.

“Nothin’,” Sam says with a shrug, “just never seen this side of you.”

“And what _side_ would that be?” Dean asks sourly.

“Your gently, nurturing side,” Sam says, knowing it’ll make Dean all embarrassed and irritable.

“Oh, shut up, Sammy,” he huffs, grabbing a beer and flopping down on the second bed. 

“Hey!” Sam protests, “that’s my bed. And get your shoes off of it!”

“As you wish, princess,” Dean says, kicking his shoes off and rolling his eyes.

“Ugh,” Sam groans, “your feet stink.” Dean simply smirks at him, taking another long drink.


	12. Chapter 12

That evening Castiel wakes up hungry which puts a smile on Dean’s face.

“Now _there’s_ an emotion I can relate to,” Dean laughs. 

“Hunger isn’t an emotion, Dean,” Sam says with another roll of his eyes. 

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” Dean retorts. 

“Anyway, I could order something and have it delivered here,” Sam offers, assuming Cas has had enough “out and about” for one day. After some debate between Sam and Dean (Cas claims to have no opinion on the matter), they settle on Chinese food, with extra egg rolls per Dean’s request. Sam places the order on his phone. The new knowledge that there’s an app for food delivery nearly causes Dean to change his opinion on the iPhone he’s always teased Sam for. 

While they wait, Sam steps out for a beer run, and Dean walks over to where Cas is propped up in bed. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks in a tone much different from the one he usually uses when he’s bickering with Sam or joking around with Cas. 

“Physically? Ok, I guess. A little sore.” This reminds Dean to find Cas’s pain meds. He hands Castiel a small pill and a glass of water. “Mentally?” Cas continues, “I don’t know. What am I doing here, Dean?” Castiel sounds utterly defeated.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asks with a furrowed brow. 

“Just… what’s the point of my being here?” Dean shakes his head as he listens to this. He doesn’t like the hole Cas is going down here at all. “I’m no use to anyone like this.”

“Like what? Human?” Dean asks, his voice raised a little, though he tries to remain calm. “Cas, don’t talk like that. Human or not, you’re still you. You’re still the guy who saved my ass from hell.” Dean sits next to Castiel on the bed. “You’re still my friend. Look, we’ll try to get your mojo back, but if we can’t, you’re no worse off than the rest of us, and then you’ll just have to find a purpose. That’s what we all have to do here.” Castiel just nods and lets his gaze fall to his hands laying in his lap. Dean reaches over and takes hold of his friend’s hand. “Look Cas, I’m not really a hand-holdy, talk-about-our-feelings kind of guy, but I’m trying. For you. Cuz truth is, I know what it feels like. I know what it’s like to wonder why you’re even here. I wondered that a lot when I was younger, but then I thought about Sam, and I knew I was all he had back then, and I figured maybe that was the point of me being here. Maybe sometimes the point of being here is for other people, Cas.” Castiel’s deep blue eyes flash up to meet Dean’s gaze. There are questions there, but also the smallest hint of hope. Dean squeezes his hand again encouragingly. 

Then Sam reenters the room and Dean jumps up from the bed instantly, as if to help Sam with the two six packs he’s carrying. 

“Woah, Dean, I got it,” Sam says, eyebrows raised in a quizzical expression. On the bed, Castiel looks confused at Dean’s sudden change of demeanor. Dean holds his hands up, backing away from Sam, grabbing a beer once Sam sets them down. He opens it on the edge of the tabletop and flops down in a chair, trying too hard to act casual. Sam looks from Dean to Cas and shakes his head to himself, chalking it up to “Dean being Dean.”

When the food arrives Sam shoos Dean away while he attempts to divide it out onto paper plates. He eventually throws the sack of egg rolls at Dean to keep him from “hovering,” as Sam puts it. 

Dean collapses backward onto the bed near Cas’s feet, groaning, mouth full of egg roll. 

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Dean moans, “now _here’s_ one benefit to being human,” he continues, mouth still full.

“Gross, Dean. What are you, twelve?” Sam says, nose all wrinkled up, “chew and swallow, dude.” 

“Can it, Sammy!” Dean turn to Cas, proffering the sack of egg rolls. “You gotta try one, Cas.” Cas accepts, sceptically. 

“Hmm,” he says after taking an exploratory bite, “yes, Dean, I can see the appeal.” Like Dean, Cas continues talking through a mouthful of food.

“Great, Dean,” Sam says, approaching the bed with two full plates, “you’re teaching him your bad habits.” Dean makes a face, accepting one of the plates anyway. 

“Cas,” Sam says, handing him the other plate, “most grown adults swallow their food before speaking.”

“Okay, Sam,” Cas says after a big gulp, swallowing the huge bite he’d taken. He eyes the sweet and sour chicken on his plate before taking a bite and declaring with a full mouth, “oh, this is quite good.”

“Well, I tried,” Sam says to himself.

* * *

Later, when Sam is in the shower, Castiel turns to Dean.

“Where will you sleep tonight, Dean?” he asks abruptly. Dean looks a little surprised. 

“Uh, well, you’re in my bed, and there’s no couch or anything, and I ain’t sleeping with Sammy - kid likes to sleep-punch - so, I guess with you. That ok?” Dean rubs the back of his neck.

“Yes, of course. You know I sleep better with you,” Cas says matter-of-factly. Dean looks uncomfortable, like he wants to tell Cas not to say stuff like that, but he remains silent. “But I also want you to be comfortable. Will you take your shoes off and use a blanket here? It’s just us and Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, okay? No need to make such a big deal out of it,” Dean says a little more harshly than he should. 

“I’m not trying to ‘make a big deal’ of anything,” Cas says quietly. 

“Sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Everything’s fine, okay?”

“Okay.” 

Dean helps Cas up when he hears Sam turn the water off. 

“You need a shower?” Dean asks him.

“I don’t know. Do I?” Cas looks at him seriously. 

“Nah, you’re good for now. Still smell alright.” 

Sam emerges from the bathroom in his pajama pants. Dean takes Cas with him into the bathroom to brush their teeth. Cas watches him closely, doing exactly as Dean does. Dean glances sideways at him.

“That’s a little unsettling, dude,” Dean deadpans as Cas stares at him.

“Sorry,” Cas says, averting his gaze. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“S’okay man,” Dean replies, clapping him on the shoulder before spitting in the sink and heading back out of the bathroom. Beside the bed, Dean kicks his boots off and hesitantly strips down to his tee shirt and boxers. He tugs one blanket off the bed for himself and shoves the rest of the bedding over to Cas’s side. Sam gives him a weird look. 

“You got something to say? Say it,” Dean snaps at him. 

“Chill, man! Everything alright?” Sam asks, caught off guard by the outburst. 

“Peachy.”

“Why are you acting so weird?” Sam asks.

“I’m not acting weird,” Dean replies through clenched teeth. 

“You worried about whether you’re gonna be big spoon or little spoon?” Sam teases, fed up with his brother’s surly mood.

“Shut the hell up, Sam,” Dean orders, raising his voice.

“Jeez, I’m only joking, chill out.” Dean glares at him. 

“I don’t understand the joke,” Castiel says flatly, standing in the door frame of the bathroom. 

“Don’t worry about it, Cas,” Dean says, “Sam was just being a dick.”

“Whatever, man,” Sam says, rolling over in his bed, “‘night, guys.”

“Good night, Sam,” Cas replies. Dean continues to fume, silently. Cas climbs gingerly into bed, his abdominal muscles still weak and sore. Laying back, he looks over at Dean. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to share some of these blankets?” Cas asks sincerely. 

“Yes, I am sure I would not like to share,” Dean answers grumpily. “You need anything before I turn out the lights?”

“No, thank you,” Cas says quietly. Dean lays down then, rolling onto his side, away from Cas before turning off the lamp on the bedside table. 

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel says. 

“Night.”

* * *

Castiel lays on his back, staring up into the dark. Soon, he can hear Dean snoring softly a couple feet away. As much as he cares for Dean, he doesn’t really understand him at times. He doesn’t understand why Dean chooses to hide how much he cares from the rest of the world. He doesn’t understand why Dean is caring and protective one moment and irritable and hurtful the next. He finds himself missing how closely they had to lay in his hospital bed; he feels so alone now with Dean’s back to him. He wants to move closer, but he is afraid that he’ll wake him and he’ll be pissed off. Cas doesn’t want to be a burden. 

It feels like forever, laying there, but when he looks at the glowing clock next to the bed, he can see it’s only been 20 minutes. Time felt much different as an angel. He tries to quiet his mind, but it just won’t quit turning over. 

After a while, Dean stirs in his sleep. He rolls onto his back, mumbling something Castiel can’t make out. Dean’s hand is so close now. Maybe he won’t wake up if Cas touches it. Cas decides to risk it, gently grasping Dean’s hand in his own. Dean stirs again and mutters something that sounds like “Cas?” and Cas braces himself for the shitstorm that will rain down any minute now. But Dean goes quiet again, gripping Castiel’s hand a little in his sleep.

And with that bit of contact, Castiel finds it much easier to close his eyes and let sleep take him.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean wakes up feeling good. He lays with his eyes gently shut, warm and comfortable, trying to remember the dream he’d been having. It had been… nice. There’s a pleasant weight across his chest and a warmth at his side; it’s an enjoyable feeling, and he curls into it. An arm tightens around his waist, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel downright cozy. Maybe he’s still dreaming. He sighs contentedly. And then he hears a sudden snort of laughter and his eyes fly open. Cas is pressed up against him, sleeping, his arm thrown over Dean’s waist, and _son of a bitch!,_ Dean is cuddling him right the fuck back. And there Sam is with his fucking phone out, laughing as he snaps a picture. 

“Goddamnit, Sam, not cool!” Dean shouts, prying himself from Cas’s grip, “you delete that this second, or I swear to god, I will fucking _end you_!”

“But you look so sweet!” Sam laughs, backing away. 

“I’m not fucking around, Sam!” Dean shouts again, scrambling out of bed toward him. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, letting Dean see him delete it (of course there’s another copy already saved to the cloud, but what Dean doesn’t know won’t hurt him).

“Everything alright guys?” It’s Cas, sitting up, yawning and stretching. 

“You bet, Cas! You sleep pretty well?” Sam asks, stifling a laugh. 

“Yes, quite well actually,” Cas replies, obliviously. 

“Thought so,” Sam says, winking at Dean. 

“Not another goddamn word from you,” Dean growls. “We will _not_ be discussing this again.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Hey, I’m gonna go out for coffee, you guys want anything?”

“Plain black coffee, no sugar, no cream, no hipster bullshit.”

“Yeah, Dean, I know your order by now. Cas? Wait, I’ll surprise you,” Sam says as he shrugs on his jacket and walk out into the cool, damp Portland morning air. 

“Don’t get him started on any of that fancy ass frappa-whatever you call it!” Dean calls after him. When he turns around, Cas is staring at him. 

“Are you alright, Dean?”

“I’m fine,” Dean answers firmly, but then his expression softens. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem… I don’t know. I’m sorry if I’ve been a burden,” Cas looks defeated, and Dean suddenly feels awful for letting his insecurities spill out in the form of anger and petulance. 

“No, Cas,” Dean says, walking over and sitting across from him, “you aren’t a burden. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole sometimes. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, okay?”

“Okay. What does it have to do with?”

“Jeez, Cas. Don’t worry about it, alright? And I’ll try not to be such a dick. Sam hasn’t been much help. Sometimes he can drive me nuts. Brothers, right?” 

“You are both lucky to have each other,” Cas says sadly. 

“I know. It’s just, even the people you love can be annoying as shit sometimes. Especially when you’re stuck in a single room with them for weeks…” 

“Did you sleep well last night?” Cas asks, changing topics abruptly. Dean can feel his face heating up. 

Dean coughs, but manages, “uh, yeah, pretty good.” He refuses to think about how nice it felt up against Cas… I mean, he was asleep, he tells himself; he didn’t even know it was Cas, so, it doesn’t mean anything. Period.

* * *

When Sam returns, he hands Dean his coffee. 

“Plain black, no ‘hipster bullshit,’ no chance it’ll be too enjoyable,” Sam says. Then he hands a second cup to Cas. 

“What smells like pie?” Dean aks suddenly, eyes brightening.

“Nothing _you_ would be interested in,” Sam smirks. 

“Hmm, this is very good,” Cas interjects, “I think I understand the ubiquity of coffee in the world.”

“What did you give him, Sam?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“Uh, nothing, just a _pumpkin spice latte_ ,” he mumbles quickly. 

“Damnit, Sam!” Dean sighs. “My brother is a basic bitch,” he says to himself, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I don’t think I understand what is going on,” Castiel says, looking from Sam to Dean.

“Dean is convinced that drinking a latte will make you less of a man,” Sam explains in a tone that says “Dean is ridiculous.”

“Real men drink black coffee; everyone knows that,” Dean snaps, defensively. 

“I don’t understand what beverages have to do with gender,” Cas states, head tilted. 

“That’s because it’s all nonsense,” Sam replies. “Dean’s views on ‘manhood’ are antiquated to say the least.” Cas nods slowly, glancing from one brother to the next. 

“Anyway, Dean, I uh, think I found a case out in central Oregon. Haunting. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Sam says, oblivious to the irony in his own words. “I was thinking I’d head out there and check it out. Give you and Cas a little more space. Figured you two would stay near the hospital for a little while at least.”

“You sure you want to head out there on your own?” Dean asks, though inside he knows it’s probably a good idea to take a little break from each other again. 

“Yeah, Dean, I’ll be fine. Not like I’ve never hunted on my own before,” Sam replies, fighting the urge to be irritated by Dean’s overly protective nature. “You and Cas gonna be alright without me for a little while?”

“Yeah, I think we can manage ourselves,” Dean says, flashing Cas a grin. 

“Well, I won’t be too far anyway. It’s less than day’s drive out to Madras. I’ll be further into the middle of nowhere, but I’ll text you my gps coordinates.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says, taking another drink of coffee. 

Sam packs up his stuff then, says his goodbyes to Cas, and Dean walks him out to the Honda Civic he’s been driving. 

“Jeez, Sammy, not sure how you fit in that thing,” Dean says sympathetically. 

“Not well,” Sam answers, “but I once got 40 miles to the gallon driving across Nebraska, so there’s that.” Dean shrugs and nods in agreement. 

“Listen, Sammy,” Dean begins, his tone more serious, “thanks for coming when I called.”

“Of course, Dean.”

“I mean it. Don’t know how I would have dealt with all this without you.” Dean looks at his feet, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. “I know Cas is grateful too. He’s feeling pretty lost right now.” When Dean looks back up, Sam has a sympathetic look on his face. 

“I feel for the guy. At least he’s got you to look after him. Just try not to get too pissy with him,” Sam smiles.

“Hey! When have I _ever_ been pissy with anybody?” Dean jokes and Sam shakes his head, grinning. 

“You take care of yourself, Sammy,” Dean says finally, giving Sam a firm hug goodbye. 

“You too. Call if you need anything,” Sam says, climbing into the ridiculously small car. Dean watches him drive off before going back inside.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Dean says to Cas as he collapses onto the bed that Sam had been using. “You up for taking a walk?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel says with a sigh. 

“Cas, you can’t just lay in bed all day; you’ve got to keep up your exercise.” Cas groans. “I know, it sucks, but that’s life on earth.”

* * *

Dean eventually gets Castiel up and dressed, and they end up walking along the waterfront, looking across the river to the east side of the city. Whenever Cas needs a break, they find a bench and sit, watching people pass by running, walking, or biking. Women with dogs on leashes, a guy with a cat in a backpack, even one dude on a frickin’ unicycle. Cas sits a little too close, but Dean doesn’t say anything, and no one seems to pay attention anyway. A young woman jogs past, flashing a smile and lingering glance at Dean, but he is too preoccupied with Cas’ mood to give much notice. 

“What am I supposed to do now, Dean?” Cas says after a while. “I’ve watched people for as long as the species has been around, but now I’m at a loss as to where I should even begin.”

“I dunno, Cas. I mean, most people get a job, find someone they can stand enough to stick with, maybe get married, have a family, live happily ever after, or at least that’s what we’re all lead to believe is the way to go. But I don’t think you need to worry about all that yet.”

“When should I worry about it?” His eyes are wide, searching. 

“Later. For now, let’s just get you better. We can worry about the rest of your life once you’re back at 100 percent.”

The pair pick up some food from a trendy little food cart on the return walk to the motel. 

“These hipsters know their food, I’ll give ‘em that,” Dean exclaims with a mouth full of chorizo street taco. 

“Yes,” Cas states pensively. “Food seems to make me feel a little better.”

“Damn right, it does!” Dean answers from across the small table they share back in the motel room, taking a long drink of beer. 

“May I have one?” Cas asks, eyeing the beer. 

“Sure thing,” Dean replies, getting up and walking to the mini fridge. “Take it easy at first though, with the booze, Cas. Don’t wanna get you sick or something. Doc might frown on drinking too much right away.”

Cas takes a tentative first drink. “Hmm, interesting flavor… it was always so interesting to me how quickly each civilization figured out how to make alcohol from whichever plant was available in the region.”

“People have always had their priorities straight…” Dean muses. 

When they finish eating, Dean moves to help Cas undress and get back into bed. When he stands, Cas sways slightly.

“Really, dude, after one beer?” Dean chuckles softly. 

“Does it always make you dizzy?” Cas asks, yawning, “and sleepy?”

“If you drink enough,” Dean answers, helping Cas off with his shoes as he sits on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, Castiel leans forward, wrapping his arms around Dean, who stiffens in surprise.

“You’re a good friend, Dean,” Castiel mumbles, patting him on the back with one of his hands, “you know that?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean says, gently removing Castiel’s arms from his body, “one beer…” Cas lays back, eyes falling shut, and Dean tugs the blanket up over him.

“Night, Dean,” Cas murmurs. 

“Goodnight, Cas.”

Dean showers then, before brushing his teeth and walking back out to where Cas is softly snoring. He glances at his sleeping friend, considering for a moment, but then collapses onto the other bed, pulling up the covers before falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

Some time around 4am, Dean is woken by a plaintive cry. 

“Shit,” he swears under his breath. It’s been a while since Castiel has suffered from nightmares. 

“No, no, please!” Cas begs in his sleep, his body jerking, throwing the blankets aside. Dean rolls out of bed to the floor, stumbling as he scrambles to Cas’s side. 

“Hey!” Dean says urgently, a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, “hey, man, it’s alright, wake up!” Cas cries out again before his eyes fly open, fixing on Dean’s face in the dim light. Without warning, Castiel again wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, pressing his face into Dean’s chest as he struggles to regain control of his breath. 

“Oh,” Dean breathes, surprised, but doesn’t pull away this time, “it’s okay.” He rests a hand tentatively on Cas’s back, beginning to rub gentle circles there. “Do you, uh, wanna, like, _talk about it_?” Dean finally chokes out. Fuck, he’s terrible at this shit. To his relief, Cas shakes his head, still resting against Dean’s chest. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas finally whispers, loosening his grip.

“Yeah man, of course,” Dean replies. “You okay?” Cas nods, withdrawing from Dean slowly. But Dean can see the fear lingering in those blue eyes and, without being asked, crawls into bed beside him. This time he is under the blankets, and he can’t deny the warmth is goddamn pleasant. Cas takes his hand before once again closing his eyes. Cas’s breathes come slower and deeper as he drifts back to sleep, but Dean can’t seem to shut his mind off.


	14. Chapter 14

Cas sleeps through the rest of the night without incident, and Dean eventually falls asleep as well. The dim morning sunlight that makes it through the drawn curtains finds Cas once again curled against Dean’s side, face pressed against Dean’s neck, arm flung over his chest. When Dean’s eyes flutter open, he panics momentarily until he remembers that Sam is no longer staying with them. Then he remains still, allowing Cas to remain asleep against him. But the early morning quiet invites too many thoughts to crowd themselves into his head. _This is just Cas being Cas, right? No concept of personal space - Doesn’t mean anything, right? Cas is almost childlike in his newfound humanity, and most humans are comforted by human contact, right? It’s not, like a sexual thing, right? I mean, it’s not like Dean enjoys this. He’s just a good guy… like when Sammy was little. It’s not like this feels fucking nice, because it definitely doesn’t._ But when Cas tightens his grip, and his breath against Dean’s neck becomes a little _too_ real, Dean has to pry himself from Cas’s grip, sitting up and rubbing his face, shaking off whatever feeling he was feeling. When Dean sits up, Cas wakes. 

“Good morning, Dean,” he says, sleepy blue eyes gazing up at Dean. 

“Uh, yeah, you too Cas.” Dean says stiffly. 

“I’m sorry I woke you last night.”

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean says, stifling a yawn. 

“I still seem to sleep much better with you,” Castiel says in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“Huh, well, uh, I'm gonna go, uh, shower,” Dean says hurriedly, jumping up and heading toward the bathroom. 

Castiel lets his head fall back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Dean seems less irritable without Sam around, but Cas still notes the unusual awkwardness in his manner. Without Dean’s presence at his side, Cas feels vulnerable in his new body. He trusts Dean. He cares for him. But maybe Dean doesn’t feel the same way. Dean is confusing. He says one thing and then his actions say another, which isn’t unique to Dean; the majority of humans seem to be confusing this way, but Dean seems especially hard to read. Cas can’t understand why people won’t just say what they mean, why they hide behind lies, even lying to themselves. Dean says they’re friends. Dean has stuck with him for weeks on end, holding his hand both literally and figuratively, but sometimes Dean seems so uncomfortable in his presence. Sometimes Cas feels like he says the wrong thing, but he never really understands why. 

When Dean emerges from the bathroom again, he seems more relaxed. 

“Why don’t you take a shower, and then we find some breakfast around here?” Dean suggests and Cas nods. “Holler if you need anything,” he adds as Cas slowly walks to the bathroom. 

“Alright, Dean.” Cas walks into the bathroom, remembering to close the door this time; he’d been scolded for forgetting before. He turns on the shower, slowly undressing as he waits for the water to warm up. He folds his clothes, stacking them neatly by the sink; clothing is oddly important to people. He looks in the mirror, which is beginning to fog up. His hair is getting longer, messier, as well as the stubble on his jaw. He opens his mouth, looking closely at his teeth. They look fine. He must be doing alright there. He’s slowly gaining weight back. This is good, he’s told. There is a large red scar that runs up his abdomen as well as some smaller scars in random places on his torso. They look angry, bright red contrasting with his pale skin. The nurses told him they looked fine, that they’d lighten as he healed. He didn’t care so much either way. 

When he steps into the shower, the hot water nearly overwhelms him; it’s always like that at first. Once he acclimates, he takes up the bar of soap, the one he can smell on Dean most of the time, rubbing it over his arms and chest. He has discovered that there are places on his body that feel very nice when they are touched. His back, for one, probably because he can’t reach it himself, but his neck and chest as well. He rubs a hand up his chest to his neck, wondering what it might feel like if someone else were to touch him like that. He thinks he’d like that. 

Castiel knows what sex is, of course. He’s seen it all, over the millennia, but he had never thought much of it, hadn’t _really thought_ about it. He hadn’t really thought past sex serving as a means of reproduction for humans, all mammals, really, and plenty of fish and birds and reptiles, and to a certain extent, some plants. He knew humans tend to think a lot of it, ascribing all sorts of meaning to it, made laws regarding it, even wrote down what god intended it for, for whom he intended it to be between. That was all nonsense, of course. God wasn’t watching anyone have sex. God didn’t seem to care what humans did in general, I mean, that’s why angels were put in charge of watching over them in the first place; God had become bored with his creations, wasn’t offended or pleased by them, simply indifferent. 

Castiel knew that sex is one more thing that humans have weaponized, in a way, anyway. Humans have an incredible ability to turn almost anything into another avenue for causing harm to one another, a fact that has always saddened Castiel. But now, now that his skin is _really his_ , now that he can feel those tingles down his spine that can happen when another person brushes past you, or runs a hand through your hair, he thinks there is probably something he missed regarding human sexuality. 

Once, what now seems like a long time ago, Castiel had gone looking for Dean. Upon locating him, Cas had appeared abruptly in Dean’s motel room, at the side of his bed, like usual, only that time Dean happened to be watching some sort of porno with his dick in his hand. Cas didn’t understand what made Dean so furious, but something did. 

_“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas!”_ Dean swore as he scrambled to pull the sheets over himself, slamming the laptop shut. “Can’t a guy get any goddamn privacy anymore?”

“I apologize, Dean,” Cas had said, still gazing at Dean, not truly knowing what he was apologizing for.

“Fucking turn around, will you? Or better yet, get the fuck out so I can get dressed!” Dean had shouted at him. Cas had asked why he needed to leave so Dean could put on clothes, after all he’d seen naked humans for basically forever; he’d seen Dean naked countless times. This, of course, only served to infuriate Dean further, so Cas had left. He’d try Sam instead. Sam was good at smoothing things over when Cas unknowingly and inevitably angered Dean. 

Anyway, now Cas is curious. What is all the fuss about? Why are people so preoccupied with getting into one another’s pants (or one’s own if all else fails)? Hesitantly, he runs his fingers down his belly, over tender scars, and down between his legs. He closes his eyes gently as he wraps his fingers around himself like he’s seen others do. He starts gently, moving his hand up and down as he gets harder. _It’s working!_ he thinks, probably a little too excitedly for how commonplace this is for most people. But Cas isn’t most people. And _damn,_ it really does feel good. 

And then he thinks about Dean. No, not like _that_ \- he thinks about how Dean would probably be pissed if he knew Cas was doing this, in their shared shower, while Dean is on the other side of the wall, waiting on him… and _oh fuck!_ why does that make it feel even better? Cas moans, unaware that he is doing so, speeding up, adding more soap, bracing himself against the wall in front of him with one arm. His mind goes a little blank. All he can think of now is his dick, how crazy good it feels, how sensitive the head is, how pleasant feelings are coursing through his whole body, pooling low in his abdomen, prickling at the base of his spine. He gasps, breathing heavily now. _Aaaah!_ He whimpers, crying out when it feels like it’s almost too much, oblivious to the noise he’s making. He grips more tightly, feeling a little dizzy, wanting more, his body asking for more. _Oh, god, shit, almost there. Ahhh!_

Then a knocking on the door.

“Uh, you okay in there, Cas?” Dean asks.

“ _Aaah! Yeah!_ ” Cas cries out, bracing himself, panting as he comes in spurts, dripping down the shower wall. “Yeah, Dean,” he calls out after a moment, “I’m, uh, I’m fine!” His legs feel weak. He turns off the water, wraps a towel around himself, and plops down on the closed toilet, leaning his head back as he catches his breath. It all makes a little more sense to him now.

When he feels like his body has gone back to normal, like he can stand and breathe and act like he didn’t just blow his own mind, Cas pulls the tee shirt back over his head and slips one leg at a time carefully back into his pants and underwear. When he emerges from the bathroom, Dean clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. 

“You, uh, have a nice shower, Cas?” he asks, staring into his coffee cup. 

“Yes Dean, it was pleasant,” Cas answers calmly. 

“Sounded like it,” Dean says, clearing his throat again, still avoiding eye contact.

“Would you like to get breakfast now?” Castiel asks. Dean is acting strange again. 

“You work up an appetite in there?”

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” Cas says, tilting his head a little. 

“I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think so,” Dean says, finally looking up with an eyebrow cocked raising the coffee cup to his lips. 

“Dean, are you mad because I masturbated in the shower?” Castiel asks evenly. In reply, Dean chokes on his coffee, coughing and spitting everywhere, his face bright red. Cas sits quietly on the edge of the bed, staring as Dean recovers himself. 

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean finally exclaims, wiping up some of the spilled coffee. Luckily, the carpet is brown anyway. After a moment he adds, “no, man, I’m not mad.” Cas looks a little relieved. “Just, in the future, you may want to be a little more… discreet.”

“Discreet,” Castiel repeats, “okay.”

“Quieter, Cas. Quieter,” Dean says turning a little red again. 

“Oh, I apologize. I didn’t realize I was-“

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Dean rushes to cut him off, “yes, let’s go get breakfast.” So they do.


	15. Chapter 15

The following week passes rather uneventfully. Dean hears from Sam that the haunting has been handled, but he’s got a lead on a cursed object in John Day, Oregon, so he’ll be staying out east for a while longer if that’s alright. It is. 

“Hey, Sammy, that wouldn’t be the same John Day where you threw a bitch fit when dad wouldn’t stop at that fossil thing, would it?” Dean teases; he knows it is. 

“Uh, the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument? I dunno, maybe. Huh. Didn’t think about that.” He definitely did, and he would definitely be checking that out. 

“Alright, well take care of yourself, Sammy.”

“You too. Talk to you later.”

When Dean returns to the motel room with the food he’d picked up, Cas is at the tail-end of another dumb chick flick. He’s been watching far too many romantic comedies for Dean’s liking. Dean did get him to watch _Pulp Fiction_ and _Taxi Driver_ on account of “they’re classics,” but the next day found Cas curled up watching _Bridesmaids._ Hearing Cas laugh was odd at first to Dean, but he was grateful to see Cas do something other than mope. Of course Castiel didn’t laugh at the same parts of any given movie that most people would. He still didn’t get most jokes, but certain inexplicable things would strike him as funny; Dean is still trying puzzle out what makes Cas laugh, and why. 

“Puppies! Dean, she gave out puppies as party favors!” Cas had laughed, tears in his eyes, “it’s _so impractical!_ ”

“Hmm, yeah, I guess that’s funny, Cas,” Dean had answered. 

Now Cas has tears in his eyes for a different reason.

“Dean, why does Bridget keep falling for Daniel, when Mark is _clearly_ the right man for her?”

“Cas, buddy, I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about,” Dean says, setting the food down and pulling out a couple paper plates. 

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel says as Dean hands him a plate of enchiladas and rice, “why is it considered attractive for a woman to wear rabbit ears and a tail?” Dean gapes at him before his face breaks into a grin and he laughs. 

“Why do you ask?”

“It was in the movie.”

“Well, first of all, they’re ‘bunnies,’ not ‘rabbits,’ and second, I don’t know. It’s just hot. You don’t question it; it just _is._ ” Cas doesn’t seem very satisfied with this answer, but he drops it and they finish the movie as they eat. To Dean’s horror, Cas is in tears again when the closing credits roll. 

“It’s just _so romantic,_ ” Cas says in response to the horrified look on Dean’s face. This does little to assuage it.

* * *

The next day Dean goes out for a few hours while Cas is napping. When he returns, however, Cas is not napping, but instead, sitting up in bed with a box of tissues and the final minutes of _The Notebook_ playing on the TV. 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Dean mutters, shaking his head. He switches the TV off as the credits begin. “Cas, what’s with all these chick flicks and waterworks?” Dean asks, sitting down across from Cas. He doesn’t answer, really.

“How do you deal with it all?” Castiel asks instead. “All the _emotions._ The love and hurt and joy and sorrow?” Dean clears his throat.

“Human emotions?” he asks tentatively, and Cas sniffs and nods. “Personally,” Dean continues, “I like to cram it all deep down inside, pretend it’s not there, and hope it goes away.” Castiel frowns at this. “Dulling the pain with alcohol is also an effective option. Alcohol not your thing? You could try food and meaningless sex.”

“That all sounds… _unhealthy._ ” Castiel states after a moment. 

“Hey, I never said anything about healthy. Some people deal with their emotions by talking about them, which I don’t personally recommend. Others turn to that old time religion or some new agey bullshit. I guess you could face your emotions head-on and work through them, but you asked how I deal with it, and I’ve told you.” Dean pours two servings of cheap whiskey and hands one to Cas. Cas coughs, makings face as he tries his.

“Ugh, it burns,” he exclaims as Dean lays back on the other bed. 

“You get used to it,” Dean assures him. Dean picks up the old iPhone that now belongs to Cas, scrolling through the music until he comes to _Led Zeppelin II_. As _Ramble On_ plays through the small Bluetooth speaker on the nightstand, Dean falls asleep, leaving Cas alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Dean has been sleeping in his own bed again, and Castiel’s nightmares have begun to creep back, that is, once he finally falls asleep. But falling asleep is getting harder and harder. Cas feels lonely, which he doesn’t understand because he is rarely alone; Dean is with him most of the time. Feelings of panic have begun gripping him at seemingly random moments as well, feelings that cause him to curl up, shaking, wanting to hide. He doesn’t understand this either. Dean calls them “panic attacks” which seems fitting, but Dean is at a loss when it comes to preventing them. He feels better with Dean’s arms around him, but Dean never seems to want to stay that way for too long; there’s always a reason he has to get up and do something, and Castiel doesn’t want to be a burden. He doesn’t want to be clingy or needy. He feels like Dean is just barely putting up with him as it is. 

To make matters worse, Cas doesn’t even know exactly what _he_ wants with Dean. He doesn’t know what he would do without Dean’s friendship. He values his relationship with Sam as well, but it isn’t the same. What he has with Dean is special, but he isn’t sure what that means now. He enjoys Dean’s company, likes his smile, likes the way he sounds when he laughs, likes the way Dean talks to him when they’re alone, and he enjoys the feeling of Dean’s body next to his. Cas knows objectively that Dean is an attractive man, very attractive given the way women (and other men) look at him, but it’s different for Castiel. He has never really experienced sexual attraction before; he’s always liked looking at Dean, studying him, because he’s _Dean_ , but now, as Cas experiments with his new body, he has started wondering what it might feel like if Dean were to touch him in a more… intimate way. He thinks he would enjoy it, probably enjoy it a lot. Yeah, actually he’s quite sure he would like Dean to put his hands on him, all over him, maybe kiss him. Definitely kiss him. Use his mouth all over him like he’s seen in the videos he’s caught Dean watching. Is that what sexual attraction is like for humans? He has also come to realize that he dislikes the idea of Dean touching another person in that way. The though of Dean with someone else has begun to cause a very unpleasant sensation in his stomach. Is that what love is like? 

One night, after about two hours of laying awake, staring at the ceiling, and listening to Dean snore from the other bed, Cas has had enough. He gropes blindly for the whiskey bottle he knows Dean has left on the nightstand between them (Dean’s drinking has been increasing steadily, probably due to the irritation he feels at dealing with Cas’s state of mind, or at least that is what Cas assumes). When Cas finds it, he uncaps it, downing what’s left of the bottle - just over two thirds. And he feels better… for a little while. 

He passes out for a short time, but it’s a restless sleep at best, and when he wakes, it’s to a spinning room and a churning stomach. As quick as he can manage, he rolls out of bed, falling to the floor, before rising and stumbling toward the bathroom. He crashes through the bathroom door, falling in a heap in front of the toilet, and just barely in time before the vomiting commences. He doesn’t hear Dean stirring or calling his name until Dean is standing in the doorframe holding the empty bottle. 

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean utters as he grabs a washcloth, wets it, and falls to his knees beside Castiel. He places the washcloth on the back of Cas’s neck and rubs a gentle circle on his back as he sighs. 

“Dean?” Cas slurs. 

“Yeah, man, I’m here. What happened?” Cas looks up at him, his eyes dull, bloodshot. 

“I...uh I may have made a mistake.”

“Yeah? Drinking the whole damn bottle?”

“M’sorry, Dean,” Cas sighs, tears springing to his eyes. 

“You don’t gotta be sorry to me, Cas, but why? Why did you do it?” Dean asks softly. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Couldn’t take what?”

“Sick of laying in bed, worrying, lonely…” Cas trails off. “M’sorry I’m such a burden.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says firmly, “you are _not_ a burden.” He puts a hand on Cas’s knee. “Dude, you’re family.” Cas smiles weakly at this as Dean hands him a bottle of Listerine. “Rinse and spit, Cas.” He does, and then Dean helps him to his feet. He sways, falling against Dean as they walk slowly back to his bed. 

“Ugh, why is the room spinning?” Cas moans as Dean lays him down. 

“It’s the booze, man; you’re gonna feel like absolute shit in the morning. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“I already feel like shit,” Cas despairs. 

“I’m sorry, man,” Dean says gently, handing Cas a glass of water and a couple ibuprofen. “Drink up. The more water, the better.” Cas gulps and coughs and then gulps the rest down. “It’s gonna be okay, Cas. You need anything else?” Dean moves to return to his own bed.

“Dean?” Cas asks after a brief hesitation, “why won’t you sleep with me anymore?”

Dean freezes, anxiety clenching his stomach. “I uh, I dunno,” he offers lamely. 

“It’s just the two of us now. Is it because I irritate you? Is that why you don’t like being too close to me?” Cas’s expression is pained. He’s still slurring his words a little, but he knows what he’s saying. 

“What?” Dean asks, surprised, “what gave you that idea?” He’s frozen, staring down at Cas, his arms limp at his sides. “I’m sorry I’m a cranky bastard sometimes, but you don’t irritate me. Cas, I really...care about you,” Dean manages, uncomfortable as ever. 

“Then, why? I don’t understand. I like being close to you. Does it not feel good to you?” Cas stares at his hands. 

“No, I… I mean, yeah, yeah it does, but… Cas, it’s complicated, I dunno…” Dean clenches his fists and unclenches them as he struggles for something to say. “Listen, Cas, you need some sleep and to sober up, then we can talk in the morning. Would it help you sleep if I lay next to you?” It’s a stupid question, as Cas has stated plainly on multiple occasions that it _does_ help him sleep if Dean is next to him, but Cas smiles a little and nods.

When Dean climbs into bed next to Cas, he is startled when Castiel practically pounces on him, burying his face in Dean’s neck, his arm flung over Dean’s chest. Dean doesn’t push him off though, he just laughs softly, reaching over with his free arm to turn out the light. 

He rubs Cas’s back gently, sighing, and before he can even realize what he’s saying, whispers “night, little angel.” The affection in Dean’s voice causes both men to freeze momentarily in surprise. 

“Dean?” Cas breathes, and Dean can feel Cas shifting, looking up at him in the dark.

“Yeah?” he answers breathlessly. And then Castiel’s lips are against his in a clumsy kiss. Cas moves a hand to Dean’s neck, sure he’s probably doing this wrong. He tries again, though, this time involving his tongue, running it along Dean’s bottom lip. Dean, however remains motionless, and Cas begins to panic. What if he’s made a huge mistake? What if he just really sucks at kissing? Dean’s rather… _experienced_ in this arena, Castiel thinks, and he’s probably had much better than Cas could ever be. Just as these doubts are running through his head, however, Dean makes a sudden move, pushing Castiel over, onto his back, Dean rolling on top of him, pressing their lips together purposefully, tasting him. Cas tastes like mouthwash and whiskey and something that is uniquely _Cas_. Castiel can feel the distinctly human sensation of arousal running through his veins, can feel himself growing hard in his pajama pants. Dean can feel it too as Cas grinds his hips up against him, wanting Dean to wrap his strong hand around him, wanting to feel Dean everywhere, sliding a hand up under Dean’s tee shirt. And then an icy feeling creeps up through Dean’s core, and he has to stop this. He flings himself back onto his back, leaving Cas panting, desperate and confused.

“I’m sorry,” Dean chokes out. 

“What?” Cas asks weakly, leaning over in an attempt to kiss Dean again, to rekindle the fire. But Dean grasps his shoulder, stopping him.

“Stop, shit, I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs again, sitting up. Castiel is so confused now, both by Dean’s sudden change in trajectory, the gnawing feeling of _want_ in his belly, and by the tears that are pricking at his own eyes. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Cas asks helplessly.

“No,” Dean rushes to say, “no, Cas, I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says quietly, suddenly feeling cold. This is what rejection feels like, and it’s painful as hell. 

“Fuck,” Dean swears, rubbing his face, “listen, I’m really sorry if I gave you the wrong idea about… I dunno… anything.” Castiel is silent for a while as tears continue to leak out of his eyes. He’s glad Dean can’t really see him right now. He wants to run and hide. “Cas, you’ve been drinking. You’re probably not thinking straight. You’ve been watching all that romance shit, and, well, You probably didn’t mean any of this, whatever happened… I’m sure it’ll be better in the morning, okay?” Castiel’s head spins with Dean’s words. It’s bullshit. Sure, he’d been drinking, but it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing. And Dean, for once, wasn’t drunk at all. 

“You kissed me back,” Cas says hesitantly. 

“I can’t talk about this right now,” Dean says suddenly, flipping on the light and jumping out of bed. 

“But,” Cas begins, but Dean cuts him off. 

“Look, sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’m not gay or whatever,” Dean says hurriedly, his voice strained. He can’t face the tears in Castiel’s eyes. 

“But, you’ve,” Castiel begins again. 

“Please!” Dean says sharply, whirling around, his eyes locking on Castiel’s, “don’t go there. Don’t _ever_ talk to me about that.” His tone is frigid. “I’ve got to clear my head,” he adds, grabbing his jacket and wrenching the door open.

“Where are you going?” Castiel pleads after him, but the door shuts behind Dean without an answer. 

Cas curls in on himself, pulling the blankets around tightly, but he’s still cold, still shivering. He feels like vomiting again, but there’s nothing left to come up, so instead, he sobs into his pillow. His head hurts, his chest hurts, _everything just hurts._ What the fuck has he done? He feels like a fool that he thought for even a moment that Dean might be open to any of what he has come to want. And now Cas begs sleep to take him. And if he never wakes up, that would be alright; he just wants out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so it’s clear: I do not suggest anyone drown their feelings in alcohol... that’s simply a Dean suggestion, and we all know how good his judgement can be...
> 
> Also, poor Cas! Sorry this chapter ends on such a depressing note. More chapters coming soon. Hang in there! 😥


	16. Chapter 16

Dean zips his jacket against the cold night air. He can’t seem to wrap his mind around whatever the fuck _that_ was. Whatever it was, it was bad. It was really fucking bad. So… Cas _wants him_? That can’t be right. Cas is lonely, or at least that’s what he said. His humanity must be fucking with his head, making him want some sort of partner, and Dean is the only person around. He guesses that makes sense. Dean doesn’t figure Cas has ever been in a human-type romantic relationship. Do angels even fall in love with each other or have sex or anything? Dean doesn’t think so, but again, he’s been too self-centered to think to ask. 

Until the whole “Cas jerking off in the shower” incident that they have not discussed any further, Dean hadn’t even thought Cas had sexual urges. He never seemed to before, but that has clearly changed. I mean, Cas had been ready to go, like _really_ ready. And Dean has to shove that thought aside for a minute. It’s just _so crazy._ And then there was Dean’s reaction… No. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think about the way Cas had kissed him, how endearingly naive it was, like a first kiss after a fucking school dance. Shit. It probably _was_ Cas’s first kiss. And doesn’t that just make Dean feel like a piece of shit. Fuck! Cas is in such a precarious place, and Dean just fucking crushed him. Why is he always fucking shit up?

But, Dean isn’t into dudes… if he were, why has he had so much awesome sex with women? It’s not like the desperate way Castiel had pressed his body up against Dean’s, the breathless sounds Cas had made, the way he’d opened his mouth to accept Dean’s kiss, had made Dean want something so bad it scared him shitless. No, it _definitely_ had not done that. 

But even if Dean _did_ want Cas, and even if Cas thinks he wants Dean now, he’d soon figure out Dean is no good in a relationship. Dean’s not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents. Well, Cas doesn’t have parents, but still, Dean is simply not “relationship material.” He screws up everything he touches. And Cas was a fucking, honest-to-god _angel._ Cas deserves better than some high school dropout without a real job. Just look what Dean has done to him already! Cas is miserable, and it’s all Dean’s fault.

* * *

Shit. The sky is beginning to lighten, which means Dean has to go face Cas. Dean had circled the block countless times before deciding to collapse in the back seat of the Impala. What the fuck is he supposed to say, though? He decides on stalling, grabbing a couple greasy breakfast burritos and coffees, knowing Cas will most likely be hungover as shit. He even brings himself to order Cas a _goddamn pumpkin spice latte,_ though he still feels the need to clarify to the barista that it is NOT for him. The barista clearly doesn’t give two shits about who it is for, as it is fucking five in the morning and it is already busy. 

When Dean arrives back at the motel, he pauses outside the door, digging for his key while balancing the food and coffee in one arm. He takes a deep breath before turning the key in the lock and pushing the door slowly open. The lights are still out, and he can just make out Castiel’s figure laying face down under a pile of blankets. Dean exhales slowly as he sets everything on the table, grateful Cas is sleeping. He shuts the door as quietly as he can; unfortunately, the sound still causes Cas to stir. 

Castiel groans, rolling over, but when the light hits his eyes, he groans even louder, pulling a pillow over his face. Dean adjusts the blinds to let in as little lights as possible, leaving only the small table lamp on. Then he grabs another glass of water and a couple more ibuprofen and, biting his lip, walks hesitantly over to Cas. 

“Uh, Cas?” he says softly. Cas mumbles something from under the pillow that Dean can’t make out. “I brought you some water and a couple more pills. Should help with the headache.” With another pained sound, Cas struggles to sit up, head hanging. Dean doesn’t blame him for avoiding eye contact. As Cas drinks the water, Dean returns to the table for the food and coffee. 

“I, um, I got you one of those fancy ass coffees that Sam gave you, and a burrito. I know you probably don’t feel like eating, but the greasy food might do you some good.”

“Why?” Cas asks quietly, his voice more a low growl than anything. 

“Uh I dunno, just seems to help.” Dean says, holding out the food and latte. 

“No, I mean, why are you here, giving me food and coffee?” Castiel asks in a pitiful, gravelier-than-usual voice. Cas doesn’t want him here. It hurts. It hurts so much, it surprises Dean. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, “I understand if you want me to go.” But Cas looks up at him then, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looks almost as bad as he did that first time Dean saw him in the ICU, and Dean is taken aback. 

“No, Dean,” Cas says slowly, “I just thought… well, I thought you _had_ left, or that you’d come back and ask me to leave. Or…do you want me to leave after I eat? I don’t know where I could go, bu-“

“Cas!” Dean interrupts, “no, I don’t want you to go anywhere!” And Dean knew that was the truth. “Cas, when you were in the hospital, before you woke up, I was a friggin’ mess. Ask Sammy! So, no, I’m not leaving, and I’m not telling you to leave. Hear me?” 

“Yes. Okay. Thank you, Dean. That’s a relief,” Castiel replies, accepting the latte and burrito. 

“Look, I know… fuck. I know we need to talk about some shit, but right now you look like hell, no offense, and I figure that can all wait til you can hold your head up and keep your eyes open.” Cas nods slowly, taking small sips of coffee. “But, just so you know, I’d like things to be good between us, I mean, I still want to be your friend, Cas.”

“Alright, Dean,” Castiel says quietly, and Dean flashes him a tentative smile which goes unreturned, but Dean doesn’t blame him. 

“Anyway, I’m gonna shut up now and let you rest,” Dean says, flopping down on his bed with his burrito. “Just let me know if you need anything.” Cas nods again and falls back onto his pillow, setting his food and coffee on the nightstand. Dean glances over as Cas replaces the pillow over his face. _That poor son of a bitch,_ Dean thinks to himself affectionately.

* * *

When Castiel wakes again sometime around noon, Dean hands him another glass of water and offers to heat his burrito and coffee up in the microwave. Cas accepts, and props himself up in bed as he waits. As he watches Dean move around the room, he wonders about the night before. He’s pretty sure he’s remembering it all right, and he’s left with an ache in his chest, separate from the plethora of aches plaguing the rest of his body. He is grateful for Dean’s care this morning, grateful that they remain friends, but an overlying hurt and want stands nonetheless. 

“Eat up,” Dean says gently, handing Cas a plate. He sets the re-warmed coffee on the nightstand beside him. Cas eats quietly, and Dean doesn’t press him for conversation, instead he switches on the TV, keeping the volume low. There’s some cooking reality show or whatever on; the contestants are racing to do some sort of barbecue spare ribs thing. 

“Fuck yeah,” Dean says, “food porn!” And he flops down on the bed. Cas’s bed. They sit quietly beside each other and whatever tension was in the air between them dissipates a little. There is A LOT that needs to be said, but Cas agrees with Dean; it can wait til the headache and nausea eases up a bit. As they watch one goofy show after another, the distance between the two shrinks slowly until Cas is nodding off again, slumped against Dean’s shoulder. As Cas succumbs to sleep, he drops the burrito wrapper in his lap. Dean reaches for it, wanting to avoid a cheesy, salsa-y mess, waking Castiel in the process. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas rushes to say, startled when he realizes he’s in Dean’s precious “personal space” once again. 

“Nah, man, it’s okay,” Dean reassures him, “just want you to get some more rest. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Cas _almost_ smiles, slumping back against Dean and letting his eyes fall shut. He’s afraid Dean might blow up at him again if he pushes this too far, he knows he’s probably just asking to be hurt again, but being so close feels too good to pass up while it lasts. So he enjoys it for now: Dean’s presence, his scent, the warmth emanating from his body. And Dean enjoys it too, but that only serves to roil the warring emotions in his own head. Being like this, so close with Cas, it shouldn’t feel this goddamn natural, so damn good. 

As Castiel is falling asleep against Dean again, Dean switches off the TV, instead scrolling through the music on Cas’s phone, playing _Stairway to Heaven_ quietly. It takes him back to those nights he spent with Cas in the hospital, how Cas seemed to melt into him as he slept, how Cas trusted him so completely, and now the enormity of this whole thing, whatever it is, just hits him, and he’s fucking terrified; He is all that Cas has left, the last thing Cas has faith in, the one thing that helps Cas sleep at night, and Dean is scared as hell he’s gonna fuck that all up. And he needs Cas, and maybe that’s the most frightening thing of all: the pain in his chest when he sees Cas hurt, the emptiness he felt when it looked like Cas was gone. He listens to Castiel’s steady breaths, feels the gentle weight of Cas’s head on his shoulder, and takes a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and resting his own head back against the wall. It’s too much; he doesn’t want to lose this, whatever it is. He _can’t_ lose this, but he is sure he will. He’ll find a way to fuck it up. He always drives the people he cares about away in the end. Why should Cas be any different? 

Before he knows it, tears are beginning to roll down his cheeks, and he’s struggling to keep his breathing steady, afraid he’ll wake Castiel and be forced to put into words why he is on the verge of a melt down.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for further discussion of anxiety/panic attacks

The next time Dean opens his eyes, early morning light is seeping through the blinds. Cas is breathing softly, sleeping peacefully curled against Dean’s side, and for maybe the first time, Dean tries to push all the doubt from his mind and simply enjoy the quiet moment. Cas is a warm, familiar presence, and Dean has to admit that waking up with him beats the hell out of waking up cold and alone, and what’s so damn bad about that? 

He doesn’t want to wake Cas yet while he’s finally sleeping so deeply, so Dean lays back, putting Zeppelin on shuffle. As _Traveling Riverside Blues_ plays through the Bluetooth speaker, Dean’s mind wanders. _Had Castiel really kissed him?_ Yeah. He had… And Dean had kissed him _right the fuck back._ With feeling. His heart races a little as he thinks about that. And Cas had clearly wanted to keep kissing him. Possibly more. 

As _Kashmir_ begins to play, Cas begins to wake, stretching, slowly realizing whom he is pressed up against. 

“Dean?” he asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, sleepyhead? How you feelin’?” Dean asks gently. 

“Physically? Much better, actually,” Cas answers without withdrawing from Dean’s side. 

“Good,” Dean says simply. “You want some coffee?”

“Yes. That would be nice.” Only then does Dean extricate himself from the bedding, and from Castiel. He throws on his jacket and walks to the door with a promise he’ll be back soon. Cas sits up then, thankful that the room has finally quit spinning, and his head no longer feels like a lead weight. For once he feels like he actually slept well. As he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, he is suddenly aware that aside from feeling clear headed and well rested, his dick is super hard. 

Cas trudges into the bathroom, turning on the shower and pulling off his clothes. As soon as the water is warm, he steps under the stream, immediately taking his dick in his hand. He closes his eyes, taking pleasure in the warm water running down his body. He strokes himself, gradually increasing the speed and pressure, and suddenly he’s thinking about Dean. And he can’t push Dean out of his head. The weight of Dean’s body on top of his own. The brush of Dean’s lips against his skin. Dean’s hand on his dick, replacing his own, and then his mouth. Dean’s mouth on his dick, swallowing around him, sucking him off, Dean wanting it as much as Cas does. And Cas is coming hard, almost dizzy, gasping, swallowing the moan threatening to escape his throat. And as the waves of pleasure dissipate, the emptiness washes over him in its place, and Castiel feels the ache in his chest returning as he thinks about how disgusted Dean would be with him if he knew what he’d just done. It hurts, wanting something so badly it feels like life is meaningless without it, and Castiel breaks down again. 

He can’t bring himself to move, and just stands there as the water washes over him. It isn’t until he hears a knock at the bathroom door that he shuts off the water. 

“I’ve got your coffee,” Dean calls from the other side of the door. Cas steps out of the shower and slowly tugs his clothes back on, always frustrated by the difficulty of sliding clothes over damp skin. But he can’t stop the trembling of his body or the tears rolling down his cheeks. He can’t face Dean like this. And the more he tries to stop it, the worse it becomes until he is hyperventilating, gasping for breath, and bracing himself against the wall. He can’t understand what is happening, why his chest feels like it’s being crushed and he can’t slow his breathing. An overwhelming sense of panic is crashing over him, and he feels like he is drowning as he slides down the wall to a seat on the floor, burying his face in his hands as he shakes uncontrollably. 

There’s another knock at the door. 

“You alright, Cas?” Dean asks, but when Cas opens his mouth to respond, his voice fails him. “Cas?” Dean asks more urgently. When Castiel still fails to respond Dean grasps the door knob warning, “I’m coming in, okay?” 

Dean feels a jolt of fear when he pushes the door open and finds Castiel curled up on the floor. He rushes to kneel beside him, placing a hand gently on Cas’s back, afraid of startling him. 

“Cas, what happened? What’s wrong?” But Cas only shakes his head, unable to formulate a sentence. Dean settles in next to him then, sitting quietly, rubbing Cas’s back as he continues to shake. 

“Feel… feel like I can’t breathe,” Cas manages eventually. Gently, Dean pulls Cas’s hand from his damp face, holding it tightly. 

“S’gonna be alright,” Dean assures him softly. Gradually, Cas leans into Dean. To his surprise, Dean wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in even closer. “We’ll figure this out, Cas. Maybe there’s something a doctor could give you to help.”

“Do you think I’m sick?” Cas asks weakly as he begins to catch his breath. 

“No,” Dean replies, “but you’ve been through a shit load of traumatic stuff. Lots of people take meds to help with anxiety. I could ask Sam; he knows a lot more than I do about that stuff.” Cas nods his understanding. The shaking in his body has eased at last, and he begins speaking in a quiet voice. 

“I’m afraid, Dean,” he begins, his eyes fixed on the floor. 

“What are you afraid of?” Dean asks when Cas pauses. 

“I’m not even sure. I just _am_. I worry that I’ll be left alone, and I don’t know how to do any of this alone. And I have so many feelings that confuse me, and new sensations that leave me aching for something I don’t fully understand.” Dean doesn’t know what to say. He is afraid to press Castiel further, afraid that Cas will reveal something that Dean isn’t ready to hear out loud. Instead, Dean sits quietly, looking down at Castiel’s hand in his own. He notices that Cas’s fingernails are short and ragged and a few have dried blood around the edges. Cas must be chewing at them while Dean isn’t watching. 

“Cas,” Dean says, still holding him tightly, “I’m not gonna abandon you. I promise you that, okay?”

“But, I’m always doing the wrong things. I know it frustrates you. I know I’m holding you back.”

“What? No, Cas, that’s not true,” Dean says, his voice low. “Cas, look at me.” Reluctantly, Castiel looks up at Dean whose brow is knit with concern. “I’m a jackass, alright? I’m sorry I’ve snapped at you, and I’ve been rough on you. Sammy has no problem pointing out what a jerk I can be, but I’m trying. Please believe me; I may get irritated, I may get angry, we might fight, but Cas, you’re my closest friend, and I’m not gonna leave you on your own.” Though it’s somewhat awkward given their positions on the floor, Castiel turns toward Dean abruptly, wrapping both arms around his middle. Dean can feel hot tears through the front of his shirt as Castiel buries his face there. He wraps both arms around Cas in return, one hand on the back of his neck, holding Cas steady as he cries. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he hears Cas murmur against his chest. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Dean says softly, and after a short while, Cas ceases trembling all together and looks up at him. 

“I understand why people say that to each other now, even though no one can really know that; it feels nice to hear.” Cas is no longer crying, and Dean huffs, laughing softly. 

“Yeah, people say a lot of meaningless shit, but sometimes that’s all we got,” Dean smiles sadly. “You ready to get up and drink your fancy-ass, hipster coffee.” Castiel nods, and Dean rises, helping him to his feet. 

“Dean, what’s a hipster?” Castiel asks seriously. 

“You know what? Never mind, just enjoy your coffee,” Dean says as he hands the cup over. “Also, that coffee place ain’t all bad, look what else I got,” Dean adds, opening a box and holding it out to Cas. 

“What is it?” Cas asks, picking one up. 

“That, my friend, is bacon on a freakin’ maple donut,” Dean says enthusiastically, “proving bacon should be put on pretty much everything.” After a bite and some serious consideration, Castiel is inclined to agree. 

As they’re finishing their coffee, Dean looks up, taking in Castiel’s weary face. “You know what always helps clear my mind?” he asks.

“Please don’t say alcohol,” Castiel replies dryly. 

“Nah, alcohol does the opposite,” Dean laughs, “I’m talking about a nice long drive. What do you say, Cas?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Don’t know. Don’t really matter. Figured we could use a break from this place. Might be nice to get out for a day. And if you get too tired, you can sleep in the backseat.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” Cas concedes. 

“Alright!” Dean concludes excitedly. He finds Cas a pair of jeans that fit decently and another of his tees and a long sleeved flannel shirt. 

“You look good,” Dean says once Cas is dressed for something other than staying in bed all day. “We should probably get you some clothes of your own at some point, though.” Castiel nods, not voicing the fact that he enjoys wearing Dean’s clothes, especially the flannel; it hasn’t been washed recently, and it smells like Dean. Dean probably doesn’t need to know all that, Cas figures. Little does he know, Dean, though he’ll never admit it, likes seeing Cas in his clothes as well.

* * *

Dean feels oddly like a mom as he gathers everything he can think Cas might need for the day: a jacket, his pain meds, water, snacks, even a blanket and pillow. He dumps it all in the backseat of the Impala before walking Cas out. Castiel is doing much better; he is stronger than when he was first discharged, and he doesn’t tire as quickly, but there are still times when he is in pain, and Dean finds himself helping Cas around more than he probably needs to. Cas doesn’t mind though; Dean is loyal and protective of those he cares for, and those are two traits Castiel has always appreciated in him. 

At last, they are ready. Dean feels a thrill as he turns the key in the ignition and pops in a Zeppelin mixtape, cranking the volume. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says, smiling over at Cas as he pulls out onto the street. Cas smiles back before settling back, gazing out the window as the city goes by and the music plays on. He enjoys it. It is all so _Dean_ : the music, the roar of the engine, the smell of the old car interior. It’s perfect. 

Traffic sucks. It usually does in Portland. 

“I just wanna _drive,_ ” Dean grumbles as they sit on one of the tall bridges that crosses from west to east across the Willamette river, but Cas enjoys the view. 

“It’s remarkable, really,” Cas reflects as he gazes out at the city, buildings glinting in the sun under a bright blue autumn morning sky, “what mankind has built with only the human brain to work with.” Dean raises an eyebrow. 

“What’re you tryna say, Cas?” he jokes.

“Oh,” Cas replies sheepishly, “no offense.” Dean laughs.

“You guys build much up there? In heaven?” he asks, “pearly gates, streets paved with gold, and all that?”

“No,” Castiel replies, “I’m not sure where you all got those ideas. It’s almost impossible to explain heaven to a being who has never been there. But, no. We don’t build anything in the way that you mean.”

“Hmm,” is all Dean says to that. “I realize I haven’t asked you a whole lot about yourself, and angels, and all that.”

“Well, you may ask me anything you would like,” Cas says calmly. “I will answer to the best of my ability.”

“Huh,” Dean says and clears his throat, “do, uh, angels have relationships? Like with each other, I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Some angels form close bonds with each other. We were all brothers, but some of us became friends.” Castiel sounds wistful as Dean realizes Cas is speaking in the past tense. 

“So angels can be friends, but I kind of meant, like if a mommy angel loves a daddy angel very much…?” Dean’s eyes are on the road, but he can almost _feel_ Castiel rolling his eyes. 

“Sex. You’re asking me if angels have sex with each other,” he says as if _of course the first thing Dean would ask about is angel sex._

“No, Dean. Angels are not mammals and have no need for sexual reproduction. Angels are asexual, genderless beings, which is difficult for humans to understand. It is perhaps more confusing given that in order to truly interact with humans, the angel must find a human vessel, which of course has a gender.”

“So, you’re not really a dude?” Dean asks without thinking. 

“Well, I am now, but I suppose even before my grace was taken from me, I had begun to identify with the male identity of my vessel; most angels do, if they spend enough time in a vessel. It felt very strange at first. I once spoke with Anna about it. She truly enjoyed being a human woman.” There is an awkward pause as Dean recalls enjoying Anna’s being a woman as well. Cas remembers too. Anna had been one to kiss and tell, and she had told Cas _everything._ He hadn’t understood how it had made him feel at the time, but now, Cas begins to think, maybe it was jealousy. No, it was _definitely_ jealousy. Dean clears his throat, jolting Cas back into the present. 

“So, uh, how do angels reproduce?” Dean asks, moving on. 

“We, well, angels don’t.”

“What? Well, where do new angels come from? Aren’t there like, baby angels?”

“No, Dean, there aren’t.” Traffic has finally begun to move again, and Cas enjoys watching everything they pass by. “I don’t remember the beginning, but I think we were all created at the same time. We didn’t exist, and then we just did. It is just one of the reasons angels killing angels is so profoundly abhorrent.”

“Huh. Sorry, Cas, that’s some heavy shit,” Dean says, at a loss for something decently appropriate to say. 

“I guess it isn’t too different from mankind,” Cas replies in an oddly lighter tone. “Although humans reproduce, they will cease to exist at some point as well.”

“Thanks. That’s reassuring,” Dean says sardonically. They sit in silence for a while, traffic finally moving as Dean heads east on 84 toward the Columbia River Gorge. It’s a beautiful day, cool and sunny. As they leave Portland behind, the traffic thins, and Dean can begin to appreciate the scenery. The Columbia River is vast, Washington State seeming rather far away though it’s just on the other side. Amid the evergreen tree covered hills, there are pops of red and yellow: maples and oaks in their fall colors. The hills grow steeper as they continue east, forming cliffs that tower above the highway. Every so often, the trees part and Dean can spot a waterfall pouring down the side of the rock wall. 

“Well, this is just fucking majestic,” Dean says to Cas, who seems transfixed by the view out his window. 

Castiel has seen it all before, of course. He was already old by human standards when the river flooded at the end of the last Ice Age, carving out the dramatic cliffs that remain now, but through human eyes, it all looks so much bigger to him, so ancient as his angelic memories are beginning to fade. He now belongs to a species so much younger than the rocky formations surrounding them. It is almost overwhelming, and he understands more clearly why human beings fight tooth and nail to establish their individual significance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a more personal note: if you struggle with anxiety/depression/panic attacks, etc. please seek help if you haven’t already! I can say from personal experience that it is worth it. I’ve seen counselors in the past and have been on antidepressants for years now, and it has truly changed my life. Clinical depression is a physical issue as well as mental, it can run in families (like mine! Yay!), and often requires medical treatment alongside counseling. It’s a bitch. A lifelong bitch, but with help, it gets better! I’m well, and I’m happy now 😊❤️


	18. Travelling Riverside Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You got a mortgage on my body, got a lien on my soul..._  
>  \- Led Zeppelin, _Travelling Riverside Blues_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I'm back, I'm back! Apologies all around! But, hey, this is a long chapter, and I've got another long one that is nearly ready to post.
> 
> Notes about this chapter:
> 
> So it'll probably be obvious that I have a hard on for the Columbia River Gorge, and pretty much Oregon in general, but I mean, it's freakin' beautiful. I've done the drive I describe in this chapter a few times in the past couple months (I even wrote some of this chapter at a brewery in Hood River, OR - well, I _was_ writing til the second hard cider took hold...) Also, I took the first two photos in this chapter. (I didn't take the last one - I found it online.)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! More coming soon!

View of Columbia River Gorge and Vista House - Photo by me

* * *

“Historic Columbia River Gorge Scenic Byway,” Dean reads aloud as he exits the highway. “Historic _and_ scenic. Must be good,” he jokes, but he’s right; it’s awesome. The old highway, US 30, snakes it’s way up away from the new highway, into the forested hills. It is steep, and the corners are sharp, and every once in a while they’re given a sweeping view of the Gorge and the new highway far below. 

“Hey, man, roll your window down,” Dean says happily, doing the same and cranking the music up even louder. The cool breeze feels great, and everything smells so fresh. It’s rained recently, and the smell is amazing: damp earth and wet foliage. They round a corner and find on old gray sandstone building out on a point. There are a few cars parked outside. A couple stands, leaning against a short stone wall, gazing out at the Columbia River. Dean parks, jumping out of the car to help Cas out of the passenger’s seat. Vista House on Crown Point, a hexagonal building with a domed roof, built in the Art Nouveau style, was finished in 1918, or so Cas reads as they make their way around the stone walls. Standing nearly 800 feet above the Columbia River, they can see all the way to Portland and Vancouver to the west, and miles down the Gorge to the east. 

Dean studies Castiel’s face as the man takes in the view, all greens and blues and grays, stretching for miles ahead and behind them. There’s a faint smile on Cas’s lips that causes Dean to smile in turn, happy to see his friend experiencing even temporary relief from the fear and pain he has been facing. 

“It makes a person feel rather small, doesn’t it?” Castiel asks, “how vast the world is.” He rests his folded forearms against the short stone barrier surrounding the point as he gazes east. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dean answers, stepping up beside Cas. “Did you ever feel that way… well, before everything?”

“Small?” Cas asks, tilting his head to look at Dean. “Yes. But not in the same way or for the same reasons.” 

“Hmm.” Dean considers this for a moment, not completely sure what to say. “I guess I never thought about it much. Doesn’t really take much to make a kid living out of his car feel small. Only thing that ever made me feel important at all growing up was Sammy.” Castiel smiles at him before looking back out at the river. 

“You, Dean Winchester, have never been insignificant,” Cas says without looking at him. 

“Hmph. Dunno about that,” Dean laughs humorlessly, eliciting a sigh from Castiel. 

“I wish there was a way I could make you understand,” Cas says softly. The pair stand quietly together for a while before Castiel speaks again. “Anyway, this is beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here, Dean.” 

“Any time, Cas,” Dean says, smile returning to his face. “Sam told me it was a nice drive. And we’re not done yet.” 

“Alright,” Cas says with another small smile, and he turns back toward the Impala. 

Dean starts the car, pops a new cassette into the player, and pulls back onto the road which descends a little through more sharp curves. The road snakes it’s way along the cliff side before retreating back into more heavily wooded scenery. Soon they see signs for Latourell Falls, but Dean doesn’t want to drag Cas out of the car again so soon, and Sam had told him about some other places they _had_ to stop. Next, they pass Bridal Veil Falls, and then signs for Angel’s Rest. Dean figures it’s too soon to joke with Cas about that, so he doesn’t, but Cas takes notice of the name anyway. 

“For understanding so little about what angels actually are, humans sure do name a lot of things after them,” he observes. 

“We name lots of stuff after the devil too,” Dean replies as _Highway to Hell_ blares appropriately from the speakers. 

“Lucifer is also an angel, Dean,” Cas says seriously. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean answers, rolling his eyes. “We’ve met.”

Soon, they’re passing Wahkeena Falls. Dean drums along to _Hell’s Bells_ on the steering wheel. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says after a moment. “Why do humans sing songs about Hell as if it’s a good thing?” Dean smiles. 

“It’s just rock ‘n roll, Cas!” he exclaims good-naturedly. “It’s just for show. No one’s really worshipping the devil. It’s mostly to shock people and get a rise out of parents. Just for fun. Reminds me of a simpler time. You know? Back before I knew hell was an actual thing…” 

“Yeah, I guess. It still doesn’t make much sense,” Cas answers, “but I suppose I still have a lot to learn.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it too much, Cas. Humanity probably won’t ever make total sense,” Dean says, smiling over at Cas. Cas returns the smile before turning to look back out the window at the lush greenery they’re passing by. 

“Oh, hey, here we are!” Dean announces, pulling off into a small parking lot at the side of the road. The sign reads _Multnomah Falls._ “Sam said we have to stop here. You up for a little walk, Cas?”

“Yes, I think so,” Castiel replies.

* * *

Multnomah Falls - Photo by me

* * *

“Woah,” Dean says, awed as he exits the car and turns around to see the tallest waterfall he’s seen in his life. “Pretty cool, huh, Cas?” he says as he gives Castiel a hand out of the car. 

“Yes, the natural beauty of the landscape is quite incredible,” Cas agrees. They walk across the highway, slowly so Castiel can keep up, and make their way past the Multnomah Falls Lodge, a beautiful stone and timber building completed in 1925. As they approach the base of the falls, the air becomes noticeably cooler. The breeze picks up, and the pair can feel a fine mist on their faces as it billows up from where the falls pounds against the rocks at its feet. Moss and ferns cling to the basalt cliff side surrounding the falls, watered continually by the cool spray. Cas closes his eyes gently, the mist, a pleasant sensation against his skin. Dean shades his eyes, squinting up at the spot where the falls first plunges from the cliff face, crashing into a pool about 550 feet below, before continuing the rest of its descent to the lower pool,eventually flowing out into the Columbia River. 

“Holy shit,” Dean says to Cas, “look how freakin’ high that is!”

“Yes, Dean, 620 feet,” Castiel states matter-of-factly, opening his eyes and gazing at Dean. 

“What?” Dean says, turning and narrowing his eyes at Cas. “Don’t tell me you just _knew_ that!” The corner of Cas’s mouth twitches up.

“Well, it says so right there, if you cared to read about it,” Cas says, pointing at an informational sign, “but, yes, I just knew it. It has been ranked by a human organization as the 434th tallest waterfall in the world, though that is rather debatable.” Dean stares at him. 

“Well it’s pretty damn high, is all I’m saying,” Dean replies. 

“Hey, you know you can hike to the top, right?” Dean and Cas turn to see a petite red-headed woman with intricate tattoos up and down her arms smiling bemusedly at them. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear. Only 11 switchbacks and you’re up there,” she adds, winking. 

“I don’t think I’m up to that at the moment,” Cas says. 

“Dude, I don’t know if I’d _ever_ be up to that,” Dean says, eyebrows raised. “Besides, I’m perfectly happy looking up at it from down here. My feet like to stay close to sea level.” he continues, smiling. Cas looks relieved. “Just be glad Sammy isn’t here; he’d drag us both up there.”

“Well it’s just a quarter mile to the bridge,” the woman says cheerfully, referring to the bridge, constructed in 1914, that spans the lower portion of the falls around 70 feet up from the lower pool. “It’s totally worth the walk!” She smiles again as she starts toward the trail, wishing them a good day. 

“Let’s do it,” Cas says with resolve after a moment of contemplation. 

“What?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised. 

“I want to walk to the bridge.”

“You sure you’re up to that, Cas?” Dean replies, unconvinced. 

“I would like to try,” Castiel says again, sounding more confident than he actually feels. At the very least, he thinks, it will be a good excuse to hang on to Dean for support. Really, though, he wants to prove to himself that he isn’t _completely_ helpless. He is tired of feeling so weak. 

“Alright then,” Dean says, and they begin the assent. The path is paved and easy to navigate, but it is much steeper than anything Cas has attempted since his release from the hospital. He is breathing heavily almost immediately, but declines Dean’s offer to turn back. Dean can sense his determination then and quits his questioning, resolving instead to make sure Cas gets there. Their progress is slow. Dean offers Cas his arm and can feel Cas leaning into him a little harder with each step they take. About halfway up, Cas relents, agreeing to take a short break on a bench at the side of the trail. 

They sit together, gazing out at the river over the steep roof of the lodge. The breeze is gentle, cool, and carries the scent of damp earth and fir trees. Castiel leans into Dean almost imperceptibly, but enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from Dean’s body. Cas sighs contentedly, a small smile on his face, so thankful that Dean has chosen to share this day with him. 

Eventually, Cas suggests they start walking again, and Dean pulls him to his feet. The second half of the walk seems a little easier as Cas is bolstered by his good spirits. When they finally step out onto the bridge, Cas is pretty sure the feeling is unadulterated joy. 

“You made it, Cas!” Dean speaks enthusiastically, patting him on the back vigorously. Cas simply smiles - a radiant smile that sends a jolt right through Dean’s chest. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Castiel says quietly and they lean back against the side of the bridge, peering up at the origin of the falls, where the water first spills out into the air. “It’s incredible.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dean agrees. For a while they stand quietly, listening to the roar of the water crashing into the pool below them, feeling the spray on their faces and arms. Without saying anything, Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s back, inviting Cas to lean further into him. 

“The Multnomah tribe once told the story of a young woman who jumped from this cliff, sacrificing herself as an offering to appease the Great Spirit and save her people from a devastating plague,” Cas muses, almost to himself. “When her father discovered her body, he asked for a sign that his daughter’s soul was at peace, and that is when water began to flow from the spot where she jumped.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, looking over at Cas, “and is it true?”

“There is some truth to most stories people tell,” Castiel replies cryptically, and Dean doesn’t press any further. They turn around then, looking over the other side of the bridge into the pool far below. Dean feels a little dizzy.

“I like the other view better,” he says, turning back around to look up instead. 

“So it’s true?” Cas grins. 

“What?”

“Sam said you were afraid of heights.” Cas looks over in time to see Dean roll his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. 

“Like you said,” Dean replies grudgingly, “there is some truth to most stories people tell.” Cas actually laughs! Dean can’t believe it: he actually got Cas to laugh. Dean can’t help but wrap his arm back around Cas’s shoulders. Cas looks good happy, his tie and trench coat traded in for jeans and one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees. 

“How’re you feeling, Cas?” Dean asks softly, meeting Castiel’s gaze, a little closer than Dean would usually feel comfortable with. 

“Better,” Castiel answers, “thank you.” And he _does_ feel better, for now anyway. But he fears the end of this day, the end of Dean standing so closely, speaking only to Cas, no irritation in his voice, sharing his car and his music, the things that truly make him happy. Cas is afraid they’ll return to their motel and the next morning will be like all the others before. He is confused, unsure, but he knows they need to talk about what happened: the kiss, Dean’s reaction. Cas knows they can’t bury it, act like it never happened, and just move on. That would kill him; but he doesn’t want to bring it up now, not when he is enjoying Dean’s company so much. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, piss Dean off again. That would be a long, awkward drive back. Or maybe Dean would just leave him out here. No, he tells himself, Dean wouldn’t do that; he promised he wouldn’t, but Cas is scared nonetheless. 

But now Castiel is stuck in that awkward in-between place that is being with Dean without being _with_ Dean, and it hurts. So, he thinks, this is the “friend-zone” that he’s seen people talk about on TV. It sucks. Standing here with Dean’s arm around him, with Dean’s scent in his nostrils and warmth against his body, Castiel wants nothing more than to kiss him, but he wouldn’t dare. If he wanted to be thrown off the bridge onto the rocks 70 feet below, he would kiss Dean right here and now, or so he figures. 

“Where were you?” Dean asks, pulling Cas abruptly from his reverie.

“Huh? When?” Cas asks, confused. 

“Just now. You looked like you were somewhere else. You sure you’re good?” Dean asks. 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine,” Cas lies, “just enjoying the scenery.” But then, something inside him throws caution to the cool, misty wind, and Cas is turning, wrapping both arms around Dean, not kissing him, but burying his face in Dean’s shoulder instead. He can feel Dean tense, but then relax into the embrace (probably once Dean realizes no one is paying attention to them). After a minute or two, Dean clears his throat gently.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean says gently, “we should, uh, probably be getting back to the car before you get too cold or tired.” Dean pats Castiel on the back as Cas’s grip on him loosens. Cas is relieved to see a smile on Deans face when he dares to look back up at him. 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “it is getting a little cold.”

“Probably because of the _microclimate_ created by the falls… see, Cas, _I_ can read too,” Dean jokes. 

Cas smiles as Dean wraps an arm back around him and they begin the descent.

* * *

Back in the car, Dean revs the engine and pulls carefully back onto the small highway. Castiel is surprised when Dean continues East instead of heading back toward Portland. 

“Nah, Cas!” Dean says when Cas asks if they’re going to turn around, “day’s still young!” 

Eventually they rejoin the newer, larger highway 84. As they travel further east, the cliff sides become less steep, and the trees begin to thin. Eventually they are surrounded by treeless, rolling hills and lava rock outcroppings. They can see vineyards across the river on the Washington side. When they come to Biggs, an ironically small town, Dean leaves highway 84, taking the long bridge across the river into Washington. The bridge is tall enough that large barges pushed by tug boats can pass beneath, carrying whatever it is they carry, and Dean can feel a stiff wind trying to shove the Impala this way and that. Once in Washington, the road climbs steeply up and up until they are once again looking down on the river. Soon, Dean is turning, pulling onto a gravel road, dust billowing up behind them. 

At the end of the road, Dean slows to a stop, shifting into park before swinging the door open and climbing out. In front of them stands a full size replica of Stonehenge. Sam suggested they visit it because, he had joked, Dean would never board a plane to see the real thing. 

Cas and Dean walk to the center of the large standing stones. The Columbia River is visible far below, spread out in front of them in the openings between the standing stones. They have the place to themselves as they walk around the large circle of the monument, the wind ruffling their hair and rippling their clothing. Cas stops in front of a large slab in the center of the circle. On it he reads:

 _In memory of the soldiers and sailors of Klickitat County who gave their lives in defense of their country. This monument is erected in the hope that others inspired by the example of their valor and their heroism may share in that love of liberty and burn with that fire of patriotism which death can alone quench._

“Sammy said it was built in the 20s in honor of the soldiers who died in World War I,” Dean says as he reads over Cas’s shoulder. A much newer monument stands nearby in memory of the soldiers who died in World War II, Korea, Vietnam, and Afghanistan. 

“Hmmm,” is all Cas says. Dean sighs. Memorial monuments have always seemed inadequate to him; they may keep us from forgetting the past, but rarely does it seem humanity avoids repeating it. And at the same time, Dean’s left thinking about all the good people he has lost who will be lost to time once he and his memories are gone, without so much as a name on a plaque. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean asks after a moment’s thought, “do angels create monuments to remember wars and dead angels and stuff?”

“No,” Cas answers simply. “There’s no need as there are no new generations of angels. Angels also do not easily forget past events as humans seem to.”

“Huh,” Dean says before turning and walking out of the standing stones to overlook the river. “So, do you, like, remember all this being created?” Dean asks, gazing at the vast river and west toward the Gorge. 

“I did,” Cas sighs. 

“What do you mean?”

“My memories are fading. I suppose the knowledge I once had cannot fit inside a human mind.” Castiel’s voice is hollow, and something begins to dawn on Dean. He feels foolish and selfish for not realizing sooner what this all means for Cas; it isn’t like Cas just lost the ability to do some magic tricks. Castiel has lost almost everything about himself. Sure, being human is cool if that’s what you’ve always been, Dean figures, but now he tries putting himself in Castiel’s place: maybe it would be something like if a human woke up one day to find himself turned into a chimpanzee. First you’d remember being a human, having all that knowledge and ability. Then you’d begin to forget, but you’d still remember that there is all this stuff you used to know, and this sense of profound loss would just stick with you as you began doing chimpanzee stuff while trying to remember the stuff you’re actively forgetting. It makes his head hurt, and he turns to Cas. 

“Cas, I’m _so sorry_ ,” Dean says hoarsely. 

“Dean, we’ve been over this. It’s not your fault,” Castiel replies, eyes still focused on the river. 

“Yeah, but I can still be sorry,” Dean sighs, draping an arm over Cas’s shoulder. “I swear, Cas, soon as you’re up to it, we’ll track down a way to fix all this.” Castiel half-smiles, unconvinced that it is possible, but he is grateful anyway for Dean’s intention. As the pair lock eyes, Cas can see something in Dean’s expression that makes him think for just a moment that Dean wants to lean in and kiss him, but the moment is fleeting, and then Dean is stretching and withdrawing his arm. 

“You been to the real Stonehenge, Cas?” Dean asks in a lighter tone. Cas clears his throat. 

“Yes. I still remember watching it’s construction. Those people hauling those massive stone blocks one inch at a time over miles of terrain. It seemed so utterly pointless,” Cas recalls, brow furrowed. “Just observing was… exhausting.” 

“And was it?” Dean asks, “pointless?”

“Yes and no, I suppose,” Castiel replies, “it depends on whose perspective you look at it from. In the grand scheme of things, yes, it was probably pointless. But through human eyes, I imagine it served many purposes.” Dean laughs a little. 

“Yeah?”

“Humans are so afraid of being forgotten. Building something that lasts a few millennia is a decent way to be remembered.”

“Yeah, I guess. Sort of like writing ‘Dean was here’ on a truck stop bathroom wall,” Dean jokes. Cas stares at him, confused. 

“I fail to see the similarity between the two,” Castiel states seriously. Dean laughs, clapping his hand on Cas’s back. 

“Of course you do,” he says, “anyway, I’m getting hungry. How ‘bout you?”

Cas agrees and they return to the Impala. Dean jogs ahead and opens the passenger door for Cas, who laughs softly. 

“I am not an invalid, Dean; I _am_ capable of opening a car door.” But he’s smiling, aware of the fact that Dean shows, via actions, the affection he seems incapable of putting into words. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “just get in the damn car,” he adds with a grin, but Cas pauses, turning toward him. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says quietly, and Dean knows he isn’t talking about opening doors for him. He stares at Cas for a moment, wondering why he, Dean, means so much to this… being? Entity? To whatever Cas really _is_.

* * *

Stonehenge with Mt. Hood in the background:


	19. Ramble On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Leaves are falling all around_  
>  It's time I was on my way  
> Thanks to you I'm much obliged  
> For such a pleasant stay  
> But now it's time for me to go  
> The autumn moon lights my way  
> For now I smell the rain  
> And with it pain  
> And it's headed my way 
> 
> _Ah, sometimes I grow so tired_  
>  But I know I've got one thing I got to do:  
> Ramble on  
> And now's the time, the time is now  
> To sing my song 
> 
> -Led Zeppelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I chopped this chapter in half so I could post sooner!

Back in Oregon, Dean gets on I84 headed west, toward Portland. He has decided to turn off when they reach Hood River. Instead of driving back through the Gorge, he figures they’ll drive around the south side of Mt. Hood. He’s racked up miles and miles on the Impala, and is pretty sure he’s driven through every state with only two exceptions: Alaska and Hawaii. He’s even crossed into Canada, but with all that driving, Dean feels like he really hasn’t gotten to see much. It’s always been a job with no time left for sightseeing, so really, there’s no time like the present to get out and see a little. 

There are a handful of breweries in Hood River, Dean discovers as they circle a few blocks, so Dean just picks the first one they can find parking in front of. There are wooden tables out front on the sidewalk, and it’s still warm enough to be inviting. A number of patrons have dogs, waiting patiently on their leashes as their people eat. The dogs ignore Dean as they pass, but not Cas. 

“You sure you don’t have dog treats in your pocket?” Dean laughs after the fourth dog insists on standing and licking Castiel’s hand, tail wagging. 

“I am fairly certain I don’t,” Cas replies, serious as always. 

“He doesn’t usually greet strangers,” one woman says of her stately German shepherd as he nuzzles Cas’s hand affectionately. 

“Do dogs always act like that with you?” Dean asks as they sit at an outdoor table near the German shepherd. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes they would tell me things,” Castiel replies as a waitress hands them menus and beer lists, a bemused expression on her face. She had clearly overheard everything. 

“They’d _tell you things?_ ” Dean asks, voice lowered, once the waitress walks off. 

“Yes, I thought you knew that.” Dean vaguely remembers Cas saying he was going to interview a cat, but honestly, he’d thought Cas was joking, though he should have known Cas doesn’t joke. 

“What did they say?”

“Oh, different things. Things like ‘help me get this stupid sweater off,’ and ‘tell him to throw the damn ball already.’ Sometimes they told me deeper things. A Labrador once told me she was afraid her person was going to kill himself.”

“Jesus,” Dean swore, “that’s some dark shit.”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t,” Cas reassures, “I gave the dog a piece of paper with a suicide prevention hotline phone number written on it. Needless to say, the guy was very surprised when his dog showed up with that slip of paper. He got help.”

“Wow. You never bothered to mention you saved lives with doggie messengers,” Dean laughs. “You’re awesome, Cas.” Dean says it casually, but it fills Castiel’s chest with a warm, happy feeling, and he smiles as he looks down at the beer list he was handed. 

“There are a lot of choices here,” Cas says as he reads. 

“The people out here love their damn IPAs, that’s for sure,” Dean replies. There are like at least six different IPAs to choose from. 

“What does ‘IBU’ mean?” Cas asks seriously. 

“Dunno… important thing is ABV. Higher is better.”

“Hmm.” Ultimately, Cas goes with a hard pear cider, and Dean just chooses the one with the highest ABV, which, oddly enough, turns out to be the same pear cider. 

“Almost 10 percent alcohol content,” Dean says, impressed, “that’s like two beers for the price of one.” Castiel thinks maybe he should reconsider after his last venture with alcohol, but Dean assures him there’s a big difference between drinking one strong beer while eating food and drinking two thirds a bottle of whiskey. “You’ll be fine, Cas.”

They order pizza: half some fancy ass portobello mushroom and truffle oil thing with white sauce for Cas, and the other half “all the meat you have” for Dean. When it arrives at the table, it’s amazing, particularly the mushroom half; Dean has to admit it is “goddamn delicious.”

“I do enjoy eating,” Castiel says happily, and Dean smiles. 

“Damn straight,” Dean agrees, “and it turns out I enjoy doing ‘normal people’ shit like this,” he adds, gesturing around them. “Going out, seeing sights, eating real food - don’t get me wrong, I like a gas station corn dog as much as the next guy, but this is fucking amazing.” Sadly, he’s sure this normalcy, or normal by Winchester standards, won’t last. But he’s gonna enjoy the fuck out of this while it lasts. 

The cider goes to Castiel’s head, but in a nice way, not the stomach churning, spinning room, sort of way. He feels warm and happy, and can’t stop smiling at Dean. And maybe it’s just the food and alcohol, but Dean is smiling back at him a lot. 

“You’re awesome too, Dean,” Cas says sincerely.

“Huh?” Dean says, caught off guard. 

“You said I was awesome. Well, you’re awesome too,” Castiel explains, focused on his last piece of pizza. 

“Well, thanks, Cas,” Dean says, looking into his empty pint glass, but he corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin.

“You’re a really good friend,” Castiel says, grasping Dean’s forearm from across the table. 

“You’re sort of a lightweight, aren’t you Cas?” Dean laughs. 

“I don’t know what that means,” he says laughing, though he isn’t sure why. 

“Means you don’t have to drink much to feel drunk. In other words, you’re a cheap date,” Dean jokes, winking. And damnit if that doesn’t make Cas blush. _Cas. Blush._ And then Dean is laughing like he hasn’t laughed in a long time. “You’re fuckin’ adorable,” he says before he even realizes he’s speaking. 

“Um. Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says somewhat awkwardly. “You are also adorable,” he returns, figuring it is only polite to return a compliment. And then Dean is laughing even harder, so hard there are tears in his eyes.

“Damn right, I’m adorable!” Dean says when he finally catches his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. Castiel is looking at him that way he does with his head tilted to the side, and Dean can’t help but think again how grateful he is that Cas is alive and sitting in front of him here and now. And he _really_ doesn’t want to fuck this up.

* * *

When the food is gone and the bill paid, Dean and Cas walk slowly back across the street to the Impala. The sun is low in the sky, and Dean knows it won’t be long before it’s dark out. The sky is already turning pink in places. Once they’re out of the city center, they are passing apple orchards, vineyards, and fields growing different types of berries. Before long they come to a viewpoint, and Dean pulls over. 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean says as he gets out of the car. 

“What?” Cas half groans as he stands.

“Sunset,” is all Dean says, and he pats the hood of the Impala next to where he is leaned up against it, beckoning to Cas. Castiel complies, halfway between sitting on and leaning against the car next to Dean. In front of them, Mt. Hood looms large, jutting sharply into the sky when viewed from the east. The sun is setting, and shades of pinks and oranges play over the patches of freshly fallen snow on the mountain’s slopes. 

How Dean, a regular guy from Lawrence, Kansas, ended up here, watching the sun set with a being older than the mountain the sun is setting behind, Dean will never truly understand. But life is crazy like that, he supposes, and then he notices a shiver run through Cas and realizes the warmth is quickly leaving the air as night falls. He wraps an arm around Cas, pulling him closer. Castiel leans gratefully into Dean’s side, resting his head on Deans shoulder as they watch the last of the light fade from the sky. When they rise to get back in the car, Cas turns to Dean. 

“I truly enjoyed spending today with you,” Cas says quietly, pulling Dean toward himself gently. Dean stiffens, as Cas has noticed he usually does at the start of any physical contact, but then allows Cas to wrap his arms around him. Castiel inhales slowly, Dean’s scent flooding his senses, and he doesn’t want to let go. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the panic that is threatening to take hold as usual whenever contact with Cas feels too damn good, too fucking right. He can do this. Cas is his friend - his best friend, really, and he can hug his fucking friend, and - _OH MY GOD, Cas has a hard-on._ No. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe he’s just imagining it. Dean shifts a little, and _NOPE,_ that’s a hard dick pressed against his thigh. Shit. Panic is really setting in now, but he can’t run; he can’t leave Cas out here. He _really_ doesn’t want to fuck up with Cas again, ruin this day, how relaxed they’ve both been together. Dean takes a deep breath before gently, carefully extricating himself from Cas’s embrace. 

“I, uh, had a real nice time with you too,” Dean finally says after clearing his throat. “It’s getting cold out here though. You getting tired yet?”

“Yes. I am pretty tired,” Castiel admits, though he doubts he could fall asleep now.

“Hold on a sec,” Dean says as he opens one of the back doors and quickly shifts stuff around, throwing a pillow down at one end of the backseat. “There. You can lay down.” Castiel does as Dean suggests, curling up on his side in the backseat. Dean slides into the driver’s seat, but before starting the car, he turns around and unfolds a blanket, draping it carefully over Cas. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Castiel says sleepily, smiling to himself in the dark.

“Night, angel,” Dean says softly as he turns the key in the ignition, cranks the heat, and pulls back onto the road. Castiel shuts his eyes and is surprised by how quickly he feels he could fall asleep. Zeppelin’s playing softly, and Cas can hear Dean quietly humming along as the Impala rumbles down the road. The whole thing is pretty near perfect.

* * *


	20. Go Your Own Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If I could, maybe I'd give you my world._  
>  How can I, when you won't take it from me?  
> You can go your own way.  
> You can call it another lonely day. 
> 
>  
> 
> -Fleetwood Mac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is well underway!

Driving toward Mt. Hood from Hood River

* * *

After a while, Dean realizes he’s having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. He can hear Cas snoring gently in the backseat and figures there’s really no need to push on. It’ll still be over an hour’s drive until they’re back at the motel, and they’re missing the scenery in the dark anyway. He decides to pull off into a little gravel patch by the side of the road, a parking area for some trailhead. As he shuts the car off and everything goes dark, no longer illuminated by the headlights, Dean’s mind briefly lingers on the “Bigfoot x-ing” sign he’d seen earlier that day. Yeah, it was a joke sign, but weirder things have been true. I mean, he’s got a damn former-angel in the backseat. But _Bigfoot_? Probably not real. He double checks all the doors are locked anyway before pulling his jacket tightly around himself and laying down in the front seat. He can see a portion of the sky as he lays on his back, gazing up, out the window. It’s a clear night and without the light pollution of the city, the stars are shining brightly. There are _so many,_ and for a moment he wonders if he should wake Cas up to see this. He ultimately decides not to though; he’s sure Castiel has seen the stars before. Hell, Cas has probably seen stars formed out of whatever it is they’re made of. Sammy would love this, though, Dean thinks, and with that thought, he drifts to sleep. 

Sometime around 2am, Dean is pulled from a deep sleep by a fearful cry. He’s wide awake, gun in hand (he’d stashed it under the seat) nearly instantly. It’s only Cas, though. He’s thrashing and whimpering in the backseat, caught in a nightmare, his restless form visible to Dean in the bright moonlight streaming through the window. Dean slides the gun back under the seat before grasping Cas’s shoulder. 

“Cas!” Dean says as he tries to shake his friend awake, but Castiel is still shaking and murmuring unintelligible things. Dean puts a hand on the side of Cas’s head; his hair is drenched in sweat even though the temperature had dropped into the thirties. “Fuck,” Dean mutters as he realizes how cold it’s gotten, his breath visible like smoke in the air. Castiel is trembling, Dean isn’t sure whether from fear or cold, but likely from a combination of both. Dean starts up the car, grateful it even starts in this cold, and hoping it’ll warm up quick, then he climbs rather clumsily over the seat back, tumbling into the backseat with Cas. 

“Cas!” he repeats, “wake up, Cas!” And finally, he does, gasping and shaking, not sure for a moment where he is, who he is with. “Cas, I got you man, it’s okay,” Dean murmurs, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s trembling shoulders. 

“Dean?” Castiel questions, voice rough and low.

“Yeah, Cas, it’s me. I got you,” Dean assures quietly, “you’re safe.” He can feel Castiel’s body begin to relax in his arms. Cas leans into him, burying his face in the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder, breathing him in. And suddenly, Dean wants to cry. He doesn’t understand why he can’t let himself have this, he and Cas just like this, always. 

“Cas?” Dean whispers, and Castiel blinks up at him in the dark. Dean slides a hand slowly up the side of Cas’s neck, his thumb gently massaging Cas’s jaw. 

“Dean,” Castiel breaths, nearly inaudibly. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, filled with tears on the verge of falling. Slowly, he leans forward again. He won’t kiss Dean, won’t send him running again, but holds onto him tightly with both arms, his cheek resting against the side of Dean’s neck. And then his tears do fall. Dean can feel them, hot and damp on his skin, and his heart hurts, his chest so heavy he can hardly breathe. Cas wonders how long Dean will allow him to hold on like this, clinging to the back of Dean’s tee shirt, underneath his jacket. He feels Dean begin to shift, sure he’s going to pull away, return to the front seat, but he doesn’t. 

“S’gonna be okay,” Dean whispers instead, “promise.” Castiel wishes he could believe him. He begins to shake his head, but then Dean’s lips are at his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw. Gentle kisses, barely there, brushing lightly against his skin. Castiel’s heart races; he doesn’t want this to stop, but he’s sure Dean will realize what he’s doing soon enough and end it again before it goes any further. 

Dean runs his tongue unconsciously over his own lip. He tastes salt: Cas’s tears, Cas’s fear-induced sweat. He can hear Castiel’s breath catch as he raises both hands to Cas’s neck. Dean’s heart is thumping in his chest so hard, he almost wonders if Cas can hear it. This is a bad idea, a part of his mind tells him, but he can’t stop this time; he could see the want in Castiel’s eyes all day, and while part of him tried to ignore it, another, stronger part of himself was drawn in by it. 

So here he is now, Dean Winchester, feeling like a nervous, sweaty palmed teenager, trying to work up the courage to kiss the girl he’d liked all year, except he isn’t in junior high, and this isn’t some girl. He bites his lip as he listens to Castiel’s little, gasping breaths in the silence between them; he wants to feel those little exhalations against his skin. The thought makes him painfully aware of his dick, now fully hard in his jeans, and, fuck if he isn’t suddenly remembering the sounds he’d heard Cas make that one time in the shower, and Dean wonders if Cas had been thinking about _him._ And there was the kiss, the kiss they had yet to discuss, the kiss that had felt too damn good, and Dean has to taste that again. So he does.

He holds Castiel steady, a hand at his neck, another at the back of his head, slowly drawing him forward, his eyes darting to Castiel’s, wide and blue, before falling gently shut as he presses his lips to Cas’s. 

Castiel’s heart races as Dean kisses him slowly, deliberately. Dean’s hands are rough, but his touch is gentle, and it sends tingles down Castiel’s spine in a way he has never experienced before. It’s unreal, the sensation of Dean’s fingers in his hair, the way their lips move against each other. Cas is tentative, still afraid Dean will bolt like a wild animal if he makes one wrong move, but he loosens his grip on Dean’s shirt, spreading his hands instead over Dean’s back, feeling firm muscle shift beneath his fingertips. 

Dean can sense a change in Cas’s body as he transitions from fear to want. Castiel’s heart still races, his palms still sweat, his body trembles, only the cause has changed. Dean knows the feeling well, knows what a partner’s body feels like that first time you touch, when they have been aching for it for so long. Dean always gets off on that: being wanted. Only this is Cas; this is different. It’s so much more than an ego-stroking confirmation of Dean’s physical desirability. Castiel _knows_ Dean, knows him and _still_ wants him. Cas can see through his bravado, has seen him at his worst, and somehow Cas still manages to look at him in a way that tells Dean how highly he regards him; and _that_ fact is what drives Dean’s heart to race a little faster, his arms to hold Cas a little closer.

Slowly, Dean advances, moves in closer, pushes Cas gently down onto his back until they are stretched out together in the backseat, Dean on top, supporting himself with one arm, afraid of hurting Cas with his full weight. Cas pulls him down closer, opening his mouth to Dean’s kisses, moaning softly. It’s all so new. To Castiel the sensations are completely, foreign, but Dean, Dean is experiencing something completely different from anything he’s felt before, and the novelty makes it all the more intoxicating. He can’t seem to kiss Cas deeply enough, can’t get enough of Cas’s gasps and the way he looks at Dean whenever they surface for air. Dean doesn’t think he has ever seen a person more achingly desperate for his touch than Castiel, and it lights a fire in his belly. Meanwhile, his dick is so hard it’s aching, but he won’t let himself acknowledge that - won’t consider asking Cas to touch him there or, god forbid, suck him off. Just the thought of Castiel’s mouth on his dick is enough to both drive him mad with lust and utterly terrify him. 

Castiel can’t believe this is happening; he and Dean in the backseat of the Impala. For a moment he thinks about Dean and Anna, but quickly forces that thought into the recesses of his mind. No, he thinks, this is different. This _means_ something, or at least he hopes it does. It does for him. It means _so much._ Dean is kissing him with such intention, it _must_ mean something. 

It isn’t very long before Cas is aching for release. He wishes Dean would move to remove their clothing. He’s afraid that if he makes the move first, it will scare Dean off, and maybe that means they shouldn’t, but should or shouldn’t, Cas wants it so badly. Eventually, he gives in, gripping the hem of Dean’s tee shirt, pushing it up so he can feel Dean’s bare skin beneath his fingertips. Much to Castiel’s surprise and delight, Dean responds by briefly sitting up to shrug off his jacket and pull his tee shirt off completely. He also takes the opportunity to shut off the car as they are both plenty warm by now. Cas marvels at shirtless Dean. It’s not like he’s never seen Dean’s naked body before, but it has never been like this. This time it’s for _him._ Slowly, Dean begins to unbutton Cas’s flannel shirt, one button at a time, practiced, deliberate, all the while looking up into Castiel’s eyes like he’s opening a fucking Christmas present. 

Cas shudders with enjoyment at each soft touch. Dean pulls him up gently to slide the shirt off his arms and pull the tee shirt over his head. When they lay back it feels almost like electricity crackling between their bare chests. Maybe it’s Castiel’s lingering grace, or simple Dean’s imagination, but it’s powerful, incredible. 

Dean kisses Cas again, deeply, pressing their bodies closely together. Cas moans into the kiss, hoping Dean’s hands will move to his belt buckle next, but they stay frustratingly north of his waistband. Cas arches his back, pushing his hips up to meet Dean’s, desperate for the pressure, the friction. Dean grunts, choking on a moan in the back of his throat, biting Castiel’s lower lip. It felt too good, Cas grinding up against him, but he just can’t let himself have that. The emotions war in Dean as they have so many times before. He kisses Castiel’s neck, sucking and biting, sure there will be bruises there in the morning: evidence this happened. Cas writhes beneath him, chest heaving, heat pooling in his groin. It feels like those times in the shower amplified, more than doubled in intensity, and he doesn’t think it will be long before _it_ happens. 

“Dean,” Castiel gasps quietly at first, grinding himself against Dean’s thigh through two layers of denim. Dean nips at his chest. “Ahh, oh god,” Cas moans, rather ironically, as Dean kisses his chest, tasting his sweat, licking, sucking on a hard nipple. Cas’s moans are becoming louder, more forceful as he thrashes beneath Dean’s lips and tongue and teeth, grinding harder against Dean’s leg. Dean can feel it, Castiel wantonly rolling his hips, pressing his erection forcefully against his thigh, but something is keeping him from taking Cas in hand, keeping him from giving Cas what he wants. Dean curses himself for his fear, for the anxiety that is staying his hand, squeezing his eyes shut against true happiness. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas pants again, biting his own lip, “ah, oh Dean, ah,” he continues breathlessly, voice raising in both pitch and volume. “Dean! Oh god, I think … ah, Dean I’m gonna-” But Dean cuts him off with another kiss, not sure he could handle hearing Cas finish that particular sentence. He runs his tongue over Castiel’s, and he can feel Castiel’s hips jerk, Cas’s body spasm against his own as he digs his fingernails into Dean’s back. Then Cas goes limp, panting and melting into Dean’s embrace, his eyelids heavy. Dean stares down at him. It’s a moment before Cas can speak. 

“Dean,” Castiel says as he catches his breath, his voice gravelly, spent, “I’m sorry.” Dean’s brow furrows, his eyebrows raised in question. “I ejaculated prematurely,” Castiel clarifies in true, brutally direct, Cas form. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean nearly chokes, “that’s alright. Happens to everyone… usually when they’re teenagers…” He stumbles over his words, suddenly painfully awkward. Castiel came in his pants like a fucking teenager, and now they’re having a goddamn conversation about it, and it’s too freakin’ real for Dean. He wants to get up and run, but he can’t. They’re somewhere on the side of a mountain in the middle of the night, it’s goddamn freezing, and Dean’s not about to run into the woods half naked or kick Cas out of the car and take off. No, he’s stuck here with Castiel and what they have just done. Suddenly, Castiel’s hand is at the front of Dean’s jeans, where Dean is obviously still hard. 

“Woah, Cas!” Dean gasps, “what are you doing?” Dean knows it’s a stupid question. 

“You haven’t ejaculated yet,” Cas says calmly, moving to kiss Dean again as he gropes at the front of Dean’s pants. 

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean exclaims caught off guard by the way Cas just _says_ things, so direct, so blunt, without a hint of embarrassment or coyness. “I mean, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he adds, composing himself. 

“But,” Cas says, “I want to-”

“Really, Cas, it’s fine, I’m fine, but, we could both probably use some sleep,” Dean replies quickly, wanting desperately to both shut this down, and simultaneously let Castiel do whatever it was he wanted to do. When they were kissing, touching each other, it was great, like his body just knew instinctively what to do; now, however, they’re talking, Dean’s brain is involved, and it’s just fucking the whole thing up. 

“Oh, okay,” Cas says. Dean can see the disappointment in his eyes, and it’s goddamn painful. 

“C’m’here,” Dean says softly, shifting positions so they’re sitting side by side. Castiel’s eyes make Dean’s chest ache with something he’s been fighting against for so long. Dean positions the pillow against the door and lays back, guiding Cas down so his head is resting on Dean’s chest. Dean pulls the blanket up over them both. He runs his fingers gently through Cas’s hair; he’s never realized how soft it is before. 

“You comfortable?” Dean asks. 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas answers, “this is nice.” 

“Yeah,” is all Dean can come up with. He knows they need to talk, need to figure out what the fuck is going on here, but he doesn’t have a goddamn clue where to even begin that conversation. 

Castiel closes his eyes. He listens to Dean’s heart hammering behind his ribs, hears Dean’s breathes, shaky and uneven. He tries so hard to understand Dean’s behavior, but it seems he’s always left wondering. Cas wonders again if he did something wrong. But at least Dean is still holding him, and Cas is grateful for that. He wishes Dean would say something, that Dean would just tell him what he is thinking, or that he himself had the courage to simply _ask_ Dean what he wants. But Cas is afraid of what the answer might be, so he lays silently for a long time before finally falling asleep in Dean’s arms.

* * *

Dean only falls asleep just before the sun is up, and once it’s risen completely and the rays are pouring in the window, he’s awake again. He can feel Castiel’s breath, warm against his chest where the man still lays sleeping. Fuck, Dean thinks, why can’t this just be easy? He knows how Cas makes him feel: wanted, important, _happy._ So why can’t he just let himself have that? Dean runs his fingers lightly though Castiel’s hair again, smoothing it back from his face. Cas looks so peaceful, Dean hates that he needs to wake him. 

“Cas,” Dean says softly. Castiel stirs, face nuzzling into Dean’s chest. Cas inhales deeply, smelling Dean and smilingly, eyes still lightly closed. It hurts Dean to end this. “Cas,” he repeats, and Castiel’s eyes flutter open, looking up at him. “Morning, angel,” Dean says almost wistfully. He sits ups, pushing Cas up too. “We should probably get back on the road,” he says to Cas, avoiding the subject that really needs to be broached. Dean pulls his tee shirt on as Cas sits motionless, wide blue eyes fixed on him, questioningly. Dean sighs heavily, falling back against the seat, leaning his head back and rubbing his face. He fights the tears in his eyes, groaning. “Cas,” he breathes, blinking up at the roof of the Impala. 

“Yes, Dean?”

“What are we doing here?” Dean sighs helplessly. Cas narrows his eyes, confused. 

“We’re sitting in the backseat of your car,” he answers. 

“No,” Dean replies, finally looking over at Castiel, tears in his eyes, “I mean… what’s happening? What are we doing? I mean, we can’t, right?”

“I don’t understand, Dean. What are you talking about?” Castiel’s voice is shaky. He fears Dean is turning on him again. 

“Us, Cas. The kiss… you know the other night when you… and last night. I mean, what… we’re not, I mean, we can’t be a _thing_ , right?” Dean struggles to string words together. 

“A _thing_?” Cas repeats. 

“A couple, or whatever… together.”

“Why?” Castiel’s gaze is intense. 

“We just… it’s complicated.” 

“You keep saying that. ‘It’s complicated.’ What does that even mean, Dean?” Castiel sounds hurt, almost angry, and Dean doesn’t know what to say. “Dean, what do you want from me?” Castiel asks finally in a tone that sends a sharp pain into Dean’s chest. 

“I… I don’t… I’m so sorry Cas,” Dean chokes out as he clenches his jaw, trying desperately not to let his tears fall. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel repeats, “I know what I want with you, and it doesn’t seem complicated to me.”

“I’m sorry I’m so fucked up, ok?” Dean says with an edge in his voice he didn’t intend. As he gazes at Castiel, the bruises he left stand out dark on Cas’s pale neck and chest, and he feels like shit for letting himself get so carried away. 

“Why did you kiss me like you did last night if you don’t want to be with me?” Cas asks quietly. 

“Never said I didn’t want to be with you.”

“So you _do_ want to be with me?” Cas asks, utterly confused. 

“I…” Dean begins, but the words get stuck in his throat, and he falls silent again. 

“Do you?” Cas asks again. “I don’t understand why you kiss and hold me and then act like you regret it all afterward.” And with that, Cas breaks down, tears leaking down his face, and Dean wants to reach out and hold him again, but fear paralyzes him. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, staring at his hands. “Cas, you deserve so much better than me.”

“Is it because I have a male body? I thought maybe that was the problem, but you were very aroused last night,” Castiel says. He sounds miserable. “What is it, Dean? What is it about me that makes you regret being intimate with me?”

“Cas,” Dean answers, his voice pained, “there is nothing about you that makes me regret being with you. And you’re right, I was turned on last night. And yeah, you’re a dude, and that complicates shit ‘cause I’ve never, I haven’t been turned on by a guy before, but you’re great, Cas, and I’m… I just don’t know.” Dean reaches out, taking Cas’s hand. “Listen. I really care about you, Cas. But I’m… I’m only human. One fucked up, piece of shit human who can’t get his mind straight enough to think clearly. I don’t want to hurt you, Cas. I hate that I hurt you.” Castiel stares at him with watery eyes, tears continuing to leak slowly down his face. 

“I think we should head back to the motel, get some food, shower, I’m sure you wanna change your pants… and we can continue to talk then,” Dean says and gives Castiel’s hand a little squeeze and hands him his tee shirt. Cas nods slowly. 

“Is it alright if I just lay back here?” Castiel asks sadly. 

“Of course. Get some more rest.” Cas wishes Dean would kiss him again, but he doesn’t. As Dean gets out of the car, Cas’s stomach is in knots; he can’t stand the uncertainty, wants to know where his relationship with Dean is going. 

Dean wanders into the trees a little to piss. The woods are dense, quiet. It’s peaceful out here and smells like damp earth, and he wishes he could just stay instead of heading back toward reality. When he returns to the Impala, Cas is already curled up again in the backseat under the blanket. He doesn’t say anything as Dean gets in and starts the engine. Soon they’re back on the road, quiet, no music, just the rumble of the engine and tire tread on pavement.

* * *

Cas dozes as Dean drives, the road snaking its way up the mountain until they reach Government Camp. There is some snow piled up along the sides of the highway, left by the plows after a snowstorm a few days earlier. The road is clear, though, and the piles of snow are gray and dirty, covered in gravel thrown up by passing cars. Evergreen trees, mostly subalpine fir and mountain hemlock, form dense forests on either side of the highway as well. Government Camp sits at about 4,000 feet of elevation, and after that they’re descending again, winding around down the other side of the mountain, passing through the tiny towns of Rhododendron, Zigzag, and Welches before reaching Sandy, Gresham, and back into Portland. 

Dean sighs as the city grows up around them, already missing the peace and quiet they’ve just left behind. Cas has been awake for a while now, sitting up in the backseat and staring forlornly out the window. The knot in his stomach tightens as they draw nearer to the motel. He wonders what Dean has been thinking about this whole time. Has Dean decided to cut it off with him for good? 

Dean picks up some junk food before heading toward the motel, but Cas isn’t hungry. 

“I’ll save it for you,” Dean says. Cas tries to read the tone of his voice, but he’s at a loss. 

It’s raining hard by the time they reach the motel room. The sky, sunny and blue yesterday, is a slate gray. The clouds look ominous, thunderheads moving in from the east. 

Dean throws his damp jacket on a chair as they enter the room. 

“You want to shower first?” Dean asks casually, turning to Cas. 

“No, you go ahead,” he answers quietly. 

“Alright, food’s here if you change your mind,” Dean offers. “I won’t be too long, then we can, uh, we can talk things through, ‘kay?”

“Sure, Dean,” Castiel replies half-heartedly. His mind has been in a negative, downward spiral the whole drive back.

* * *

In the shower, Dean squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to slam his fist into the tiled wall. He turns the hot water up hot as it can go, til it’s nearly scalding. _Fuck_ , he thinks, _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He has no idea what he’s gonna say to Cas when this shower is over. Cas was totally right to question him and his hot and cold, “now I want you, now I don’t” behavior over the past few days. It isn’t fair to Cas, and Dean knows it; Cas deserves better. But when he thinks about it, he and Cas together, like _together_ together, out in the open, he’s scared shitless. What would Sam think? The thought of Sam finding out that he and Cas had so much as cuddled in the backseat, let alone that _other thing_ , makes Dean want to run and hide more than the devil himself… and Dean would know. 

The truth is, Dean realizes, that despite the fact that he has looked death in the face on multiple occasions without batting an eye, when it comes down to having _feelings_ for anyone, really, but especially for Cas, he’s fucking terrified. He’s a coward, and he hates himself for that, hates himself for what he’s done to Cas because of his own personal bullshit. 

Suddenly, Dean realizes that he has been in the shower for a much longer time than he had planned on. Shit, he thinks, Cas is gonna think he’s stalling, and Cas already feels bad enough. Dean dries off quickly, dressing in a hurry before resting his hand on the doorknob and taking a deep breath. 

“Cas?” Dean says as he opens the door, but he gets no reply. He steps out into the room, and quickly realizes Castiel is gone. 

“Fuck!” he exclaims as he races to the door, but he can’t see Cas anywhere. As he turns around, a piece of paper on the table catches his eye. He grabs it, sending a pen flying to the floor. 

_Dean,_

_Maybe loving you isn’t the right thing to do, but how can I change things that I feel? If I could, I’d give you my world, but how can I when you won’t take it from me? Tell me why everything turned around. Packing up, shacking up is all you want to do. If I could, Dean, I’d give you my world. Open up, everything’s waiting for you. You can go your own way. You can call it another lonely day._

_-Castiel_

_Sorry, I couldn’t put my own words together. These fit very well, though.  
_

“Damnit, Cas!” Dean mutters. “Fucking Fleetwood Mac.”


	21. Love Reign O’re Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _On the dry and dusty road  
>  The nights we spend apart alone  
> I need to get back home to cool, cool rain  
> I can't sleep and I lay and I think  
> The night is hot and black as ink  
> Oh God, I need a drink of cool, cool rain_
> 
> -The Who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to change this fic’s rating from “Mature” to “Explicit.” You’re welcome. 😉

"Damnit, Cas!" Dean runs across the street, pulling his jacket on as he goes, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. The rain is coming down harder now. Fuck. _Where are you Cas?_ But Dean has a good idea where to start the search. He runs toward the river. The wind is picking up and Dean can hear thunder in the distance. It's getting darker, and a red glow against the storm clouds serves as a reminder that the sun will be setting soon.

"Cas!" Dean calls again. He doesn't expect an answer, but he continues to call. Finally, Dean spots a form on a bench overlooking the river. It has to be Cas. It is Cas. He’s wearing his trenchcoat again, over the tee shirt on loan from Dean. Dean slows to a walk as he approaches.

"Cas," Dean speaks softly as he walks up behind his friend. "What are you doing, Cas?" Dean circles around to face Castiel, but the man doesn't look up.

"I don't know, Dean."

"Come on, Cas; it's freezing out here. Let's go," Dean says, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Why?"

"Because. Okay? C'mon." But Cas doesn't move. He just sits, drenched, rain streaming through his hair, running off the end of his nose. "Listen, Cas," Dean begins gruffly, "I know I’ve been a dick and I owe you an apology, but can we do this inside where we won’t freeze our asses off?" Only then does Castiel look up, and Dean immediately hates himself a little more as his eyes are met by Cas's, full of achingly profound despair.

"Come on," Dean says more softly, holding out his hand, "please come talk to me."

"Go, Dean," Cas replies, his gaze dropping back to the ground. "I'm of no use to you anymore; I'm of no use to anyone."

"Hey, don't talk like that."

"Dean, I've been stripped of everything that gave me any worth at all. You’re my only friend, and even you don’t want to get too close to me half of the time."

"That is not true," Dean protested. "I really care about you. I’m sorry I don’t always show that. Come on, Cas, we'll figure this out."

"I'm powerless, pathetic, and you know it. I can't even control my body, Dean! Look at it! I can't even stop its shaking." Only now does Dean realize how cold Castiel must be.

"Shivering, Cas. You're shivering. It's a thing human bodies do when they're too fucking cold!" Dean grabs Cas's arm and realizes he's completely drenched. "We've talked about this. You have to take care of yourself now. You can't sit outside in the rain all night because you could get hypothermia and die!" The words make little impact on Castiel.

"And would that be so bad?"

"Yes, Cas! Yes, it would be so bad! Now, get the fuck up!" Dean pulls Castiel to his feet and practically drags him back toward the motel. Cas doesn't put up much of a fight, but if he did, Dean knows he has the upper hand now that Cas possesses only human strength.

"Dean," Cas says after a while, "this 'shivering' is very... unpleasant."

"Yeah? You know what else is unpleasant? Pneumonia." Cas doesn't respond.

* * *

When they arrive at the motel, Dean cranks the heater in their room and drags Castiel into bathroom. He pulls Cas's coat off, hanging it over the shower curtain rod to dry. He does the same with Cas's tee shirt. Castiel continues to shiver as Dean dries his hair with a towel before wrapping it around his bare shoulders.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Cas asks, hoarse, wishing Dean would kiss him, but knowing he won’t. 

"First of all, trying to get you warmed up so you don't freeze to death... Now you can take your own pants off. I'm gonna find something dry for you to wear." Dean rummages through his duffle bag and finds a clean pair of boxers and an old Led Zeppelin tee shirt he's had for as long as he can remember. When he returns to the bathroom, Castiel is standing motionless, right where Dean left him, only he's completely naked, his soaked pants and underwear in a pile at his feet.

"Oh!" Dean says, surprised, looking anywhere now but at Castiel's naked form. "Uh, here..." Dean holds the clothes out and Cas takes them, dressing rather awkwardly.

"I still feel terrible," Cas states once he has the dry clothing on. Dean can see he is still shivering and puts a hand on his upper arm. Cas's skin is alarmingly cold to the touch.

"Wow," Dean remarks, "you really got cold out there. You really need to be more careful. Come on." Dean leads Castiel to the bed and pulls the covers back. "Get in." Cas does as he's told, sitting up with the blankets pulled up to his chest. Dean takes another blanket and drapes it around Cas's shoulders. "You should feel better soon," he says. Cas stares up at him, his blue eyes lacking the spark they once had. 

Dean rummages through the drawers in the little motel room kitchen and manages to find a single tea bag and sugar packet. He heats some water in a mug in the microwave. 

“Here Cas,” Dean says gently, handing him the hot mug, “it’s probably not great, but it’ll help you warm up.” Castiel accepts the drink silently, eyes downcast. Dean sits across from him. 

“Cas, tell me what you’re thinking. What was your plan, leaving me a note and taking off like that?” Dean speaks quietly, sadly, knowing he’s to blame for this whole mess. 

“I didn’t have a plan. I… I don’t know. Dean, ever since I woke up in that hospital bed, I’ve been having feelings I don’t understand. I don’t understand my body, and I don’t understand the way my brain works.”

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know I can’t truly understand what you’re going through, but I am so sorry for my part in all this.”

“Dean, the only time I feel relatively okay is when I’m with you. My mind seems to calm, and my body… my body is bearable when you’re touching it. More than that. It feels excited, pleasurable actually. And last night was, um… _very_ pleasurable.”

“It was for me too,” Dean admits, feeling his face flush. 

“You say that, but you act like you’re ashamed. Why?” Castiel focuses his narrowed eyes on Dean. 

“It’s… like I said before, I’ve never had a guy make me feel like that.”

“And you think that’s wrong?” Castiel questions. 

“No, I… I don’t know.”

“Dean, do you find homosexuality shameful?”

“What? No, of course not!” Dean answers rather defensively. 

“But you’re afraid of what other people would think of you if anyone knew you enjoyed relations with a man.” It isn’t a question, and Dean doesn’t answer. 

“Dean, the thought of losing you terrifies me,” Castiel says after a while. 

“I’m afraid of losing you too, Cas. When I got out of the shower and you were gone, I panicked. I don’t want anything happening to you again,” Dean says softly, moving a little closer. 

“But being intimate with me scares you more?” Castiel says with hurt in his eyes. 

“No, Cas, that’s not true,” Dean says quickly. 

“Dean, you are very important to me, and I need to know what you want. There are so many things I want when I am with you, so many feelings in my body… they are impossible to control, and I feel… it really hurts, Dean.”

“What hurts?”

“It hurts when I feel like you don’t want me too close.” Cas looks down at the bedding in front of him before hastily adding, “and I know you cannot make yourself feel things that you don’t, but if you feel anything like I do, please…” Dean stares at him, at the sincerity and feeling in Castiel’s eyes, and Dean _does_ have feelings for him. He wants to hold Cas, kiss him, just spend his days with Cas, a person who truly cares for him despite _everything._ And he knows he has to make a choice: Cas and their happiness, or deny it all and continue on in the dark, like none of these feelings ever happened. If he chooses the latter, he realizes he will likely lose Castiel for good. 

So he chooses. For the first time in his life, he chooses happiness. 

“Cas,” he chokes, his throat suddenly tight with emotion, “you’re right; I’m scared. I’m a fucking coward, and I’m so sorry.” Castiel’s face falls. He looks broken. “No, Cas! Listen. I _do_ want you close, so fucking close. I want you, and I want to make this work. Just, please… please be patient with me. I’m so bad at all this. I always fuck things up; I’ve sabotaged every relationship I’ve been in, but I promise, I want to do better.” Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand. It’s still trembling. 

“Really?” Cas asks, voice quavering. “You want to be in a relationship with me?” Dean nods, biting his lip nervously. “You will touch me without running away afterward?” Dean smiles a little. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, “no more running away.” At this, Castiel’s face cracks into a wide smile, and Dean knows he’s making the right decision; he can feel it deep down. “Cas, I’m gonna say something I’ve never said to anyone before: let’s take things slow at first, okay?”

“Yeah, alright, whatever you want, Dean,” Cas smiles. 

“It’s just, you’ve never done this, and I always rush in and fuck stuff up, and I don’t want to hurt you again.” Castiel nods his understanding. 

“Is kissing permissible?” Castiel asks seriously, and Dean has to laugh. 

“Yeah, I’ll allow it,” he jokes, “c’m’ere, Cas.” Cas leans forward, and Dean inches closer, caressing Cas’s jaw. Their lips meet, and Castiel eagerly crawls out of his pile of blankets into Dean’s arms. 

“Shit, Cas, you’re still freezing,” Dean says concernedly, as he feels Castiel’s cool skin and trembling torso. He pulls Castiel’s shirt over his head before peeling off his own damp shirt. Pulling Cas in closer, he presses their bodies together, hoping it’ll warm Cas up. 

“This feels nice,” Cas murmurs, “you’re always so warm.” 

“I’m gonna take good care of you, Cas,” Dean promises, pulling the blanket back up around Castiel’s shoulders. It’s probably close to 80 degrees in the room by now. Dean is beginning to sweat, but Castiel’s skin remains cold. He rubs his hands up and down Cas’s back and sides beneath the blanket in an attempt to bring some warmth back to his skin. 

“It’s so warm in here,” Cas states, “why am I still shivering?”

“I’m not sure,” Dean answers. “Here, c’mon.” Dean helps him out of bed and leads him by the hand to the bathroom where he turns the shower on hot. Cas’s eyes are wide as Dean steps out of his damp jeans and turns to him. Dean kisses him, gently at first before becoming hungry, almost desperate, exploring Cas with his tongue and hands. The room fills with steam as the shower runs, and Cas inhales deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with the warm, moist air. 

Castiel closes his eyes as Dean continues to kiss him; part of him worries that if he opens them, he’ll discover this whole thing has been a dream. He feels Dean’s strong hands on his sides, traveling toward his hips before tugging at the waistband of his boxers. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean slides his boxers from his hips before removing his own. Only then does Cas reopen his eyes. Before him, Dean stands completely naked and aroused, and Castiel’s eyes widen a little. 

“Like what you see, angel?” Dean asks, cocky and far more confidently than he feels. Cas simply blinks at him before stepping toward him to rather timidly run a hand over Dean’s chest. 

“You’re perfect.” Cas states it simply, but Dean reddens, looking down at the floor, shaking his head. “Yes,” Cas says, closing the space between them completely, placing a hand on Dean’s cheek. Then they are kissing again, clinging to each other. Dean’s chest feels like it might explode, and he doesn’t quite understand it; he only knows that he can’t let Cas out of his arms. He only breaks the kiss to step backwards into the shower and pull Castiel carefully in after him. 

The hot water feels strange and tingly as it hits Castiel’s chilled skin. He breathes deeply as the stream runs through his hair, hot against his scalp, before cascading down the back of his neck and shoulders. Dean pulls him close for another long kiss, hands holding Cas firmly at the waist. Finally, Cas ceases trembling from the cold. Instead, shivers of excitement course through his body, his attention drawn to his erection, sliding against Dean’s, pressed between their bodies. It is nearly more than Castiel can handle: Dean’s lips and hands on his skin, strong but gentle, impossibly close, his own human body alight with tingles, sensations he has never experienced before. 

_“Dean,”_ Castiel breathes as Dean wraps his arms tightly around Cas’s upper body, kissing down the side of his neck. 

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean replies, voice low and rough. “How’re you feeling?”

“Never felt like this before,” Cas nearly whispers, burying his face in the side of Dean’s neck. 

“Warm enough?” Dean asks, pulling back to look into Castiel’s eyes. 

“Definitely.” 

“Good,” Dean says with a grin, looking now as though he’s up to something. Cas leans in to kiss him again, but suddenly Dean’s hand is on him, a firm grip, slowly jerking him off, rubbing over the head of his cock with his thumb, and Cas gasps audibly, nearly choking on the water streaming down his face. 

“Oh god, _Dean_ ,” Cas cries out, and Dean grins again. 

“Yeah? You like that, angel?” Dean murmurs, low and dirty against Castiel’s ear. Cas nods, biting his lip. “You know,” Dean continues, teasingly, “you probably shouldn’t use our lord’s name in vain.”

 _“Shut… up,”_ Cas hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as Dean continues to slide his hand up and down the length of his cock, faster now. Dean laughs as Cas braces himself, one arm against the shower wall and the other hanging tightly onto Dean’s shoulder. 

“You look so fuckin’ hot right now, Cas,” Dean says more seriously. 

“I… ahhh!...highly….ahh…doubt that’s…. ahhh!....true!” Cas gasps out, resting his forehead on Dean’s other shoulder. 

“Aww, now _you_ , shut up, angel,” Dean says quietly. It has hardly been two minutes, but Castiel already feels as though he could come at any moment; he tries not to, because he knows humans have a _thing_ about guys who finish too quickly, but it doesn’t do much good. 

“Ahh...mmmh...oh, _Dean!_ I… I’m…” Cas’s voice is shaking. Dean knows Cas is about to lose it, and damnit if that isn’t a _huge_ fucking turn-on. And then Cas’s whole body spasms, and he jerks forward, clinging to Dean like a life preserver as he comes harder than he ever has, spilling into Dean’s hand. 

“Yeah, that’s it, angel,” Dean murmurs, soft and low as he holds Cas steady against himself, stroking him a couple more times, feeling Cas shiver against him with each touch. “You like that, Cas?” Cas nods silently. 

“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel utters once he’s able to speak. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Dean asks gently, kissing the side of Cas’s head. 

“I… uh, finished so fast,” Cas mumbles. 

“Hey, man, that’s just something that happens when you don’t see a lot of action, if you know what I mean,” Dean assures him. 

“Uh, I don’t know what you mean.” _Of course not,_ Dean thinks to himself. 

“I mean, when you haven’t been very _‘sexually active,’_ as a mature adult would say.” Dean grins. “Also, you’re with me, so, naturally, it’s not gonna take very long,” he jokes before adding, “but seriously, Cas, just enjoy it; you’ll last longer eventually.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, looking up at him before leaning in for another kiss. Then, abruptly, Cas drops to his knees, startling Dean. 

“Cas! You okay- ahhh…” Dean finishes with a moan as Castiel’s mouth is suddenly on his dick. “Oh, fuck, Cas,” he groans, leaning back against the shower wall. Cas doesn’t hold back; he’s been curious about this for a _long_ while now, and now he’s going fucking exploring with his hands, his tongue, everything. He licks a long, hot stripe up the underside of Dean’s cock before sucking the head into his mouth, investigating the tip with his tongue, and then nearly swallowing the whole damn thing. 

And goddamnit, Cas seems to have no fucking gag reflex. Dean wonders for a moment if that could be part of Cas’s residual grace, before deciding that’s ridiculous and having to stifle a laugh. Whatever it is, it’s freakin’ _awesome._

Dean looks down at Cas just going to town on him. Big friggin’ mistake! The visual is almost too much, almost enough to make him come instantly. _I’m getting sucked off by a freakin’ angel!_ Dean thinks to himself, and the thought has him about to finish quicker than Cas had. He twists his fingers in Castiel’s hair and feels him moan around his cock, and he realizes Cas is already hard again; Cas is already hard again, and jerking himself off as he sucks Dean’s dick. _It’s gotta be the grace,_ Dean thinks of Castiel’s apparently nonexistent refractory period, I mean, even Dean knows that’s just like, a porn thing; real dudes don’t have a turn-around time that short, well, maybe when he was sixteen… but he digresses. 

Dean fights to hold his hips still, but Cas pulls him forward, urging him to thrust into his mouth. 

“Ah, shit, Cas! I’m… I’m, uh, real close,” Dean pants, gripping Cas’s hair. He feels Castiel moan again. “Oh, fuck! Ahh, ah fuck, Cas! _Cas!_ ” and Dean is coming hard with Cas’s name on his lips, coming down his throat, and Cas is swallowing, squeezing his eyes shut, stroking himself furiously, swallowing until Dean pulls out, panting, overly sensitive, and Cas rests his forehead against Dean’s thigh, moaning louder and louder until he’s coming again, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, panting hard against Dean’s leg. “Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean groans, non ironically when he’s able. He helps Castiel to his feet and kisses him again, long and hard, tasting himself on Cas’s tongue. 

“Fuck, Cas, where the hell did you learn to do that?” Dean asks, laughing, after a while. 

“I’ve been watching humans for a long time, Dean,” Castiel answers seriously. “Also, you really leave pornography up on your laptop quite often,” he adds. Dean almost chokes on a laugh. 

“Huh, well, guess it paid off,” he replies. 

“So I did it right?” Castiel asks, “that was good for you?” Dean has to laugh again; after all that, this is the same old Cas. 

“Yeah, man, you totally ‘did it right,’” Dean says affectionately, reaching for the soap. He slowly begins to lather up Castiel’s chest before moving to his shoulders and arms, down to his abdomen, rubbing gently over the scars there. Cas looks at Dean thoughtfully, studying him as Dean continues to wash every part of his body. It feels good; not the same as “hand job, good,” but calmingly good, comfortingly, reassuringly good, and for once, Cas doesn’t fear that Dean is about to run. As Dean shampoos his hair, Cas feels more relaxed than he can remember. Dean’s fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp, seem to tell him everything will indeed be alright. 

Once Cas is thoroughly washed and rinsed, Dean quickly washes himself before shutting the water off. He reaches out of the shower, grabbing a towel and begins to dry Castiel, rubbing him all over, ruffling his hair before wrapping the towel around Castiel’s shoulders and kissing him gently. Cas stares at him as Dean grabs another towel and begins to dry himself. 

“You look tired,” Dean remarks and Cas nods. “You feel better though?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas smiles seeming almost shy, an unusual look for Cas. 

“Good,” Dean replies and hands him a toothbrush. Together, they brush their teeth in front of the mirror, an oddly mundane ritual that almost makes it seem that they’ve always been like this, the two of them, comfortable together. 

Without dressing, Dean leads Cas to bed. Dean has turned the heat down, but the room remains incredibly warm. Cas lays down, his eyes searching Dean, hoping that he’ll climb in next to him. For once, Castiel isn’t disappointed. Dean throws his towel on the floor and crawls over next to Cas. Dean lays on his back and opens his arms to Castiel who quickly moves in close, resting his head on Dean’s chest. Cas can hear Dean’s heart, a steady thumping beneath his ear, and he closes his eyes peacefully. Dean takes a deep breath. 

“Cas, I’m sorry I’ve been such a jackass, well, so much of the time, really. Sorry I’ve been so selfish,” Dean says to the ceiling. Cas sighs. 

“Dean, everything you do, you do for other people; you aren’t a selfish person. You’ve done so much for me, and I know how much you have sacrificed for Sam,” Cas says quietly. “Nobody is perfect.”

“Hold it there, Cas; what about Jesus?” Dean jokes, grinning in the dark. 

“Common misconception, actually,” Castiel states matter-of-factly. 

“Nevertheless,” Dean goes on after a pause, “I wanna do better, Cas.” Cas smiles against Dean’s chest. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Night, angel,” Dean says softly. He kisses the top of Castiel’s head, and soon, they are sleeping soundly in each other’s arms.


End file.
